


Sleepwalk

by BlackDog9314



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Chef Dean Winchester, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Holidays, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean Winchester, These idiots love each other, Writer Castiel, extremely happy ending, minimal angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21928483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackDog9314/pseuds/BlackDog9314
Summary: When Dean asks his friend with benefits, Cas, to spend Thanksgiving with him and his family, he isn’t expecting the feelings that the holiday dinner brings to the surface.He and Cas have good sex.Well, it’s great sex, if he’s honest, and they have it all the time and also get along like nobody’s business, but that’s all their relationship is, right?Dean doesn’t think he’s so sure anymore.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Ellen Harvelle/Mary Winchester, Kate Milligan/John Winchester, Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 364





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the sweetest, closest to angst-free thing I've ever written! I hope that you guys enjoy it ❤️ I've really grown to love this universe as I've worked on it and it's very dear to my heart now. This story is full of happy people, well-adjusted families, and so, so much love.  
> Happy Holidays, dear readers. I hope that this story gives you as much joy as it did myself ❤️

When Dean asks the guy he’s currently having casual sex with if he wants to spend Thanksgiving with him, it isn't something he does with a lot of intent. Sure, he arranges the appropriate words into a legible request before he says them and times them appropriately (after Cas has spent the better part of the last five minutes complaining about the fact that his mother and stepfather are in England visiting his stepbrother). Hell, he even thinks the possibilities through as he does, envisioning messy-haired, perpetually-rumpled Castiel standing beside his mother Mary and her partner, Ellen, looking suitably intimidated by the two women as they alternate between churning out Thanksgiving dishes like a well-oiled machine and asking him vaguely menacing questions. Dean can practically _hear_ Sam and his girlfriend Violet's laughter in his mind as they yuck it up at the display.

But for all of the possibilities that it brings to the forefront of his mind, it's not an invitation Dean thinks Cas will accept, so when the other man turns to him and nods silently, Dean is much more surprised than he ought to be.

"Really?" he stutters.

Castiel looks at him seriously, his blue eyes still a little glazed from the pot smoke hazy in the living room.

"Yes, Dean. My parents are…very much enjoying themselves with Balthazar. I won't be insinuating myself where I'm not wanted." He clasps his hands in his lap briefly, the rolled sleeves of his white button-down contrasting against the dark green throw of Dean's that he's taken to wrapping around himself as soon as he arrives at the apartment lately.

And if _that_ isn't a whole bucket of worms for another time Dean isn't sure what is, but he doesn't comment, instead smiling at Castiel and sliding closer to him on the couch.

"You're probably gonna hate my family as much as they’ll like you," he says with a laugh. "We're a…little crazy."

"If they're anything like you, I'm sure I could never hate them," Castiel says softly as he leans forward to press his face into the crease between Dean's neck and shoulder. His oddly formal way of speaking is tempered as he says the words into Dean's throat, his breath warm and the brush of his stubble prickly and pleasant simultaneously. Dean feels something flutter in his chest as he feels Cas honest-to-god _smile_ into his skin, and has to tamp down the stupid desire to giggle like a child as Castiel reaches for him and hauls him onto his lap.

Dean can tell that the dark-haired man has plans, and he tilts his head back, closing his eyes as the pale, white winter light filtering in through the nearby window makes him and Cas and everything else warm and downy and so, so soft.

~*~*~

"Huh? Yeah, Ma, I'm fine," Dean says with slight exasperation as he shrugs his coat off, watching absently as it slides off of the couch and onto his hardwood floor. It's getting chilly out and it’s three minutes until midnight, almost Wednesday morning after a long Tuesday evening. Dean's briefly grateful that Mary's as much of a night owl as he is, and that even though Ellen's already gone to bed his mother is more than content to stay up and make time for him. They've been on the phone for the last fifteen minutes, since he began the short drive from the restaurant after closing it down, strapping on his Bluetooth hands-free device and dialing his mother's number.

They usually talk around this time, since Mary tends to read or journal until the wee hours of the morning and Dean often works the closing shift at Les Fruits de Mer.

"You sound like you have bad news," his mother says plaintively.

Dean rolls his eyes as he opens the fridge and grabs himself a beer, knowing already that he'll be up for another few hours.

"You always say that when I don't open with whatever it is I want to talk about," Dean tells Mary grumpily as he pops the cap off the bottle. It's been a long day on his feet, and he knows he's being petulant but can't be bothered to do anything about it.

"Well?" Mary says.

Dean can literally _see_ her in his mind's eye, sitting on the old recliner in the living room, her cellphone pressed against one ear as a book lays open in her lap and the muted TV casts the space in cold, blue light.

"Why are you like this?" Dean is stalling and he knows it, but when Mary laughs he forces himself to continue.

"Anyway, I was wondering if we could have one of my friends over for Thanksgiving?" He doesn't mean to make the words into a question.

"I don't see why not," Mary says almost immediately. Dean can hear her shift in her chair. "Who's the friend?"

"It's, uh…my buddy, Cas." He doesn't bother giving her Castiel's full name, telling himself that it's because it's a mouthful when in reality it may be something a bit stranger. "His family's in England right now and I don't want him to have to spend it alone."

"Sure, sweetie," Mary says, her voice soothing Dean's nerves when he didn't even know they were frazzled. "How long have you known him? You've never mentioned a Cas before."

 _I've never mentioned him before because we fuck on my couch and get so stoned we can’t form complete sentences together after a stressful day_ , Dean thinks ruefully. But he's still at a loss where his mother's inquiry is concerned, and he stumbles. "I, uh..."

Dean has yet to stop and think about just how long it's been since he met Cas, but doing so now, he realizes it's been over six months, edging on seven.

"Wow," he says quietly. "It's been a while. I, uh, met him in April. He came to the restaurant and asked to talk to me after he got his food. He told me it was great, and then we started hanging out."

Dean smiles unexpectedly at the thought; he can still vividly remember how anxious and tense he'd felt as he stepped out into the dining room from the warm, humid air of the kitchen after being summoned by his boss. His white chef's coat had been spattered with grease, the stifled skin beneath the fabric slimy with sweat from bending down over the hot stove and searing oven. He'd been almost hyper-aware of the fact that he smelled of fish and pepper and unsure whether he’d been called out for a compliment or a complaint.

At first, all he’d been able to see was the top of a dark-haired head as the customer bent down over his food, eating ravenously from his modern, asymmetrical white plate even as Dean had come to stand beside the table. Once the man had lifted his head, though, Dean had seen immediately that he was wearing a marijuana-themed shirt hilariously out of place in the dim, ambient lighting of the restaurant.

"You asked for me?" Dean had inquired around a poorly-hidden laugh as he realized the man was stoned. He’d been somewhat envious, on the tail-end of a long shift and wishing he was home to smoke a little of his own stash.

"Yes. This is delicious," the man had said around a borderline-inappropriate moan, his eyes locked onto Dean’s with an unsettling level of intensity.

"Thanks," Dean had said with a relieved smile, letting himself laugh aloud as the man looked down again, continuing to eat almost frighteningly large portions of his shrimp scampi.

"I mean it," he said after finishing off the final bite of his food a minute or so later and chasing it with a swallow of white wine. "The balance here is perfect, the acidity of the lemon, the creaminess of the sauce. But it's not too butter-heavy, and the seasoning brings it all together. I’m Castiel Novak. What's your name?" The last question was asked after the man settled back into his chair and raised his eyes to look at Dean again, his gaze then tracking up and down Dean's body in a fairly obvious manner.

Dean knew a come-on when he saw one and was grateful that his boss had wandered away to check on another table, because there had been something about the man (Castiel, he’d reminded himself) that made his skin tingle under his disgusting work clothes. Perhaps it had been those intense blue eyes, perhaps it had been that strange, deep voice. But whatever it was, Dean responded in kind, lowering his voice.

"I'm Dean. That's a…nice shirt you're wearing.”

Cas's look had turned knowing.

"You think so?" he'd asked smoothly. "I consider myself a casual hobbyist."

He'd extended his hand and Dean had shaken it, distracted by the firm grip and warmth of his skin, and Castiel had scribbled his number on a napkin and slid it into the front pocket of Dean's smock.

Less than two hours later they'd both gone back at Dean's apartment, and what had started as a smoke session ended with Castiel riding Dean’s dick until almost three in the morning.

Mary hums approvingly on the other end of the line, snapping Dean suddenly out of his X-rated stroll down memory lane.

"A friend who appreciates that my baby knows his way around the kitchen. I already like him."

"He's...he's funny. Kinda quiet, but real nice," Dean is blushing and tries not to think about why.

"Well, I should probably go to bed, honey, but he's more than welcome to spend Thanksgiving with us. If you like him, I’m sure we will, too."

"Thanks, Ma. Tell El I said hi," Dean says with a smile, waiting only for Mary to inform him that she will before letting her go.

He imagines his mother for a brief moment as he takes a pull of his beer, knowing she’ll smile sleepily at Ellen as she crawls into bed next to her. Bones Jr, the mutt they took in three or four years before, is probably already sandwiched between them the way he usually prefers to sleep.

Dean doesn't feel jealousy the way he once did of their closeness, of their commitment, and tells himself that the reason is _not_ because Castiel is currently on his way over to the apartment to spend the night (the same way he’s done almost four days that week).

He tells himself that until he falls asleep with his arms wrapped around Castiel less than an hour later, when he abruptly realizes that the reason he no longer feels jealousy is that he has someone to be close to, himself, and has for half a year.

~*~*~

Thanksgiving is less than a week later, and Dean insists on driving both himself and Castiel to Mary and Ellen's in the Impala for the sake of simplicity. Cas has an outdated clunker of a car that gives Dean anxiety just _looking_ at it, and he refuses to let Cas drive it in the wet cold more than he already does on a regular basis.

“Did we have to bring so much food?” Cas asks as they settle into the car after packing five large ceramic dishes and three Tupperware containers snugly into the back seat.

Dean laughs as he turns on the car and backs out of the driveway, briefly patting Cas’s shoulder while he turns to look out the rearview window.

“When you see how many people are at the house, you’ll get it,” he says with a smile, thinking of how few leftovers they’d had the year before.

It takes them a little over half an hour to reach the cottage-style house on the other side of town, and Castiel stares distractedly out the window for the entirety of the journey, the bowl they smoked before loading up the car apparently making him quiet and pensive. Once or twice Dean says something to Cas to try to draw him into conversation, but the other man seems to be in a world of his own and Dean gives up soon enough.

When Dean pulls up to the house he points out to Cas with a smile that it looks like Sam, Violet, Jo, Bobby, John, Charlie, and Charlie’s parents have already arrived (if the mishmash of cars, vans, and reasonably-priced hybrids crowding the driveway and nearby side-streets is anything to go by). He finds a place to park the Impala with some difficulty, but find a place he does, and soon enough he and Castiel are exiting the vehicle, both laden with food.

Castiel has a sack of homemade rolls hanging off one arm, baked mac and cheese in one hand, and squash casserole in the other, and Dean’s balancing a platter of fried shrimp with one hand and a casserole dish of stuffed salmon filets with the other.

Dean’s spent the better part of the past day and a half carefully preparing each dish (with Cas providing moral support in the form of weed and blowjobs), and he’s secure enough in himself to admit that part of what he enjoys about the holidays is being enthusiastically told by his friends and family members how amazing his cooking is. Everyone has their talents, and cooking is most definitely one of Dean’s.

"Well, let's get inside," Dean says happily as he shifts the plates in his arms to hold them more comfortably. It's cold where they stand a few yards away from the house entrance, but Dean feels warm and eager; he's off for the night and about to spend it with his favorite people.

But he stops in his tracks when he turns and notices that Castiel currently looks like he's feeling the exact opposite. The older man's usually-tanned skin is pale and his striking eyes are wide and anxious.

"Whoa. Are you okay, man?" Dean asks, setting the plates carefully on the roof of the car so that he can put a hand on Cas's shoulder. “You feelin’ sick?”

"I—I've just been wondering—thinking—maybe this is a bad idea."

It's clear that Cas is aiming for calm, but he's not hitting the mark.

"What? Of course it's not a bad idea!" Dean says immediately.

It's strange, almost surreal; Castiel is usually perfectly content with whatever they happen to be doing at a given time, and more than that, naturally self-assured in his contentedness. Whether it’s a form of zen or simply a suave kind of laziness Dean’s never been certain, but he’s never seen Castiel anything but perfectly nonchalant, not while cooking naked at midnight or telling Dean he wants to get fucked so hard he’ll feel it for days or maneuvering any of the random assortment of firsts they've shared together. Dean doesn’t know why this of all situations is affecting Cas this way, but then Cas speaks, and he thinks he understands.

“I just…I don’t know if they’ll… _like_ me,” Castiel says as he looks down at his feet.

Dean exhales slowly, reaching out to clasp Castiel’s stubbled cheek. He tries not to think of how he’s using this as an excuse to touch Cas because he’s wanted to since they got out of the car and he saw Cas standing less than a foot away, with his ocean eyes and his broad shoulders and the brown curl that always falls over the slope of his forehead.

"They're gonna like you just fine, Cas. You're my friend, and you’re funny and weird and great,” Dean says.

Cas turns his face into Dean’s touch, closing his eyes and breathing in slowly. Dean takes a step closer, using his other hand to cup Cas’ elbow, hoping the proximity soothes his friend.

“I’m being ridiculous and I don’t know why,” Cas says when he opens his eyes again.

“Meeting new people is scary, dude. I get it. But my family’s great, man. I promise. Besides, if nothing else, I can get you something to drink when we get inside and see if it chills you out,” Dean says.

Cas nods somewhat uncomfortably and gestures to the food Dean's placed on the roof of the car.

“Let’s not keep everyone waiting. I’ll be fine, Dean.”

“Alright, if you’re sure.”

Dean hopes Cas will start to feel better once he warms up to everyone, but he knows there’s not a lot he can do besides break the ice. He withdraws his hand with a parting tweak to Cas’s chin, briefly massaging the knob of his shoulder before grabbing the containers again and turning to lead them into the house.

The door is opened for them before Dean can actually extend an elbow to knock on it, and Ellen smiles brightly at them from where she stands in the doorway. She's wearing lipstick that matches her wine-colored top for the occasion, and her light brown hair has been tied up in a loose bun.

“Boys, you’re here!” she exclaims excitedly.

Ellen leans in to give Dean a peck on the cheek and to take one of the plates from his hands before standing back to wave him and Castiel inside. Dean politely lets Cas step forward before him, breathing a sigh of relief as a gust of warm air hits them when they traverse the entryway.

“So, you’re Cas?” Ellen asks curiously as she closes the door behind them.

Cas nods and rearranges the dishes in his arms so he can extend a hand for Ellen to shake. There’s barely any sign of his previous uncertainty on his face as he smiles at her, and Dean wonders if Cas is actually feeling any better or he’s simply good at faking it. He hopes it’s the former.

“I’m Ellen, the evil stepmother,” Ellen says with a laugh as she uses the grip she still has on Cas’s hand to pull him into the living room.

“C’mon, Dean’ll introduce you to everyone,” she says as they reach the doorway of the main room and she releases Cas’ hand, pushing them both forward with a disconcerting amount of force.

Dean and Cas are immediately greeted by the sight of the Harvelle-Winchester’s friends and family mingling with one another in various pairings; John and Charlie are talking together over Shiner Bocks near the fireplace, Mary's chatting idly to Mr. Bradbury as she takes a tray of jalapeno poppers out of the oven and sets it atop a wire rack to cool, Jo and Mrs. Bradbury are laughing and flipping through something on Jo's phone, and straight ahead beyond the main room Bobby and Sam are mixing a batch of alcoholic eggnog in the dining room while Violet looks on somewhat hawkishly. Her delicate hands are on her generous hips as she ensures they don't skimp on the Southern Comfort.

"Who's your friend?" Charlie asks Dean brightly, startling him from his surveillance as she practically bounces over to greet him and Castiel, leaving John looking slightly surprised in her wake. Her enthusiasm is such that Dean casts a worried glance to the half-full beer in her hand, but she ignores it and throws her arms around Dean, almost upsetting the plate he's still holding. After apparently deciding Dean's been sufficiently embraced, Charlie releases him and turns to extend a hand to Cas while at the same time taking one of the dishes he's holding so that he can shake it.

"I’m Charlie, Dean's best friend in the entire world and someone who's been getting blown off an awful lot lately. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" she asks Cas with a playful smile.

Castiel blushes, actually _blushes_ , and Dean can't help but stare. He's done all matter of decidedly unholy things with Cas and has never seen the guy so much as bat an eyelash, and all it's taken today is Charlie lightly needling him to accomplish what he’d started to assume was impossible. He feels like he’s learning more about Cas today than he has in the months they’ve been fucking. If he’d known that having Cas meet his family would bring out so many new sides of him in such a short amount of time, Dean thinks he might have invited him out far earlier on in their relationship.

_Wait, it’s not a relationship. Where is that coming from—_

"My apologies. Dean often keeps me company because I don't have any family here," Castiel murmurs as he smiles shyly at Charlie, pulling Dean from his thoughts before they can get any weirder.

"You're pretty cute, if I swung that way I'd probably keep you company, too," Charlie says with a wink and a final pump of Cas's hand before she turns to take the dish she nabbed from him into the kitchen.

By this time everyone else has noticed the new person in their midst and are coming forward to introduce themselves. It's John decides to go first, and he gives Castiel his second handshake of many for the night, smiling.

"Hey. Cas, was it? I'm John, Dean's dad. Glad to have you." He smiles and Dean feels stupidly and suddenly emotional at the sight, pushing the feeling down before it can bloom into something more realized.

Mister and Miss Bradbury come next, both shaking Castiel's hand and greeting him in that refined, quiet way they speak to everyone. How Charlie, boisterous and confident and bubbly, came from parents as white-bread and sweet as hers Dean doesn't know, but they're good people.

Bobby and Jo are next in line, and Dean can tell that Castiel is relaxing by degrees as they shake and tell him how glad they are to meet more friends of Dean's. As far as stepsisters go, Dean totally lucked-out on landing Jo; they both like to shoot pool, guns, and tequila. If he hadn't practically grown up with her Dean thinks there's a good chance they would have ended up dating, but the cards simply hadn’t fallen that way.

Sam, Violet, and Mary are the last members of Dean's family to approach Castiel and tell him hello, and he sees immediately that Sam's hair has gotten longer since Dean saw him a few weeks ago. Violet's as beautiful as ever, her round face creasing into a smile as she draws Dean in for a tight hug. It had actually been Dean who introduced Violet and his brother almost three years ago, having known her from his time in culinary school, and Dean likes to generally be a pain in the ass about their relationship for the sole reason that he _can_.

"It's not too late to come away with me and leave the sasquatch behind, y’know," Dean stage-whispers to his brother's girlfriend as he releases her, laughing as Violet reprimands him with a thwack to the shoulder and a faux-indignant gasp.

Mary smiles softly at Castiel as she steps forward and takes the other dish from his hands, gracefully bypassing Dean and Violet to get to him.

"Hello, I'm Mary Harvelle, Dean's mother."

If Castiel is surprised about Dean's mother's last name he doesn't show it, simply taking her hand and shaking it gently, looking at her almost as if entranced.

"It's wonderful to meet you," Cas says as he releases her hand. “Dean speaks of you fondly and often.”

“Ooooh, I like him already, Dean,” Mary says with a laugh as she clasps Cas’ hand in hers for a final time before stepping back. “We’re happy to have you here with us. You help yourself to anything you want, there’s more than enough to go around.”

"Well, what are you waiting for? I believe some holiday shots are in order!" Jo says with a smile as Mary retreats to the kitchen. She holds up the customary silver-white bottle of Patron.

"I am so down!" Dean says as he grabs Cas's hand and pulls him into the kitchen. For the second time Cas allows himself to be led, giving Dean a small, secret smile that makes something pull tight and warm in Dean’s chest.

Two hours later everyone is grouped in the living room, slightly tipsy as they eat sitting on sofas and chairs because the dining room table isn't big enough to fit everyone.

"…And then, Dean wanders in three hours later and wonders why all his jeans are outside on the fence, and he doesn't believe me when I tell him he did it dead-asleep," Sam says before dissolving into a fit of laughter.

Beside him Castiel tilts his head back and laughs as well, and Dean should have known this was a terrible idea for the simple fact that his family members are all assholes.

"That's the last time I ever took Lunesta," he says grumpily as Castiel touches him briefly on the back between his shoulder blades, the touch so light Dean could pretend it hadn't happened if he wanted to.

"You were so funny when you were younger," Mary says fondly at the sight of Dean's blush.

“Yeah, I had stress-induced insomnia, I was hilarious,” he says sarcastically, a smirk on his lips as he takes a swig of spiked eggnog.

"You're a poor sport," Castiel says jokingly as their feet touch on the carpeted floor.

"Only when it comes to them!" Dean says, pointing at his family accusingly.

He's a little buzzed but a lot happy. He's heard every story his family has to tell about him a few dozen times, told to dates and friends and doctors and family friends; he's immune to the embarrassment he's supposed to feel and can tell them as well as they can after all this time. He’s acting put out because he’s supposed to play along, but he just feels delighted.

He and Cas are friends who have sex. Yes, they also go on morning walks and watch trash TV and talk and smoke and eat dinner and breakfast together, too, but the sex and their physical connection has always been the defining feature of the time they spend together, and for months Dean has been keeping Cas to himself like what they have is some kind of secret because of that particular aspect of their friendship.

Now, Dean feels silly and borderline-guilty for doing so as he watches how well Cas gets along with everyone who matters in Dean’s life. It all feels natural, like they were always going to meet and tonight is a culmination of the inevitable, because his family likes Castiel. They like him a lot, actually, if the way they're crowding around him telling him Dean's darkest secrets is any indication. Jo is surreptitiously topping Cas’ drink off when he so much as takes a sip, Mary is smiling at him with a real smile, not her for-company smile, Charlie has already regaled him with a twenty-minute explanation as to what her Lord of the Rings tattoo means, and John has asked if he'll be around for Christmas.

Castiel, for his part, seems relaxed and like he’s enjoying himself, slightly pink in the face from the drinks and the laughter. His body language is open and comfortable where before it was more closed off and uncertain, and over the course of the evening he’s come out of his shell and become the funny, personable guy Dean has come to know.

More than once Dean finds himself seized by the urge to lean close into Cas’ space and kiss him or wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him close only to remember that they’re not alone and he can’t because he still hasn’t told anyone that they’re anything more than friends (and he doesn’t think he even _knows_ if they’re anything more than friends), and it’s all Dean can do to keep his hands and his thoughts to himself, satisfying himself with sitting as close as he can to Cas and his warmth while trying not to give anything away.

Once, Cas looks over at him, his eyes caressing the lines of Dean’s face so softly Dean swears he can feel them on his skin, and Dean knows Cas wants the same thing.

It’s almost enough.

"Your mother’s house is lovely," Castiel says unexpectedly to Dean on the drive home. “How long has she had it?”

"Oh, since Sammy and me were babies. Long time. I was glad Ma got to keep it after the divorce," Dean responds somewhat absently as he keeps his eyes on the road. "Wasn't like Dad was there much near the end, anyway."

"Your father, he…he seems like a good man," Cas says, obviously choosing his words carefully. “At least, it seems like he’s handled everything. I’m glad he can spend holidays with your family, with _you_.”

"He’s a lot better now, yeah," Dean says, tilting his head to the side as he thinks back to when his parents had first divorced. The thought isn’t as painful now that almost a decade has passed. He’s had more than enough time to come to terms with everything and he’s happy that his mother’s been able to find happiness with Ellen. "He's got his shit together and he's a lot different than he used to be. He and Mom weren't all that compatible to begin with, to be totally honest. She told me once that she thinks the universe only got 'em together to have us." He laughs a little at that.

He's still somewhat surprised that John is comfortable spending the holidays with everyone again; he'd taken the divorce extremely hard and until four years and exorbitant amounts of therapy after he wasn't able to bring himself to so much as be in the same room as Mary and Ellen. John's come a long way though, and Dean feels a little more proud of him every year.

"Clearly, the universe got it right," Cas says quietly, interrupting Dean’s thoughts. "You and your brother are also good men."

Dean doesn’t know how to respond to that, feeling his face heat at the compliment while he smiles stupidly at the mention of his brother and also simultaneously tries to hide it. He huffs a strained laugh, reaching out to grasp Cas’ hand across the armrest, then finds he still has no idea what to say.

“I don’t think I’ve had that much to drink in one sitting since college,” Cas says a few seconds later, the subject change coming out of left field.

Dean knows he’s saying it because he knows the way Dean reacts to praise when they’re not in the bedroom and is trying to diffuse the tension for him.

Dean rubs his thumb over the back of Cas’ hand.

When they arrive at the apartment a few minutes later they barely manage to make it inside before they’re kissing the way they’ve both wanted to for hours. Dean presses Cas back against the closed door and cups his face in both hands, rubbing his thumbs down against the grain of Cas’ perpetual five o’clock shadow before pressing his thumb into the familiar cleft of his chin. Cas goes pliant against Dean almost as soon as they come together, tilting his head back as he wraps his arms loosely around Dean’s waist, leaving the long expanse of his throat bare.

Cas exhales softly when Dean reaches underneath his shirt to lift it over his head by the hem. As the fabric passes between them and the garment comes off they’re separated for a few seconds, and as soon as Dean can he leans in again, parting Cas’ lips with his tongue and wrapping Cas in his arms, pulling him as close as he can and basking in the waves of warmth coming off his bare skin. He feels Cas shiver against him as he moves to kiss the hinge of his jaw.

“Want to touch you everywhere,” Dean murmurs as he dips his head a few inches lower, pressing a kiss to one of Cas’ nipples before drawing it into his mouth and starting to suck. He lingers there until he hears Cas let out a gasp, the outline of his cock bumping up against the heel of Dean’s hand through his jeans when he reaches down between their bodies to touch him.

Dean feels Cas reach out and grasp his shoulder, his fingers tight enough that Dean knows their tips are white.

After that Dean gets to his knees in front of Cas. The hardwood hurts his legs but he ignores it, all of his focus bent on getting Cas into his mouth. He’s always disliked giving blowjobs to his past partners because of the comments he often got about his mouth- guys calling him a girl or a slut or saying his lips were made for sucking dick, but Cas has never once said anything of the kind to him; he makes Dean feel sexy and appreciated, not ogled and used. Over the last few months sucking Cas off has become one of Dean’s favorite things.

Dean undoes the top button of Cas’ pants and pulls them down over his thighs, leaning forward to press his cheek against Cas’ hip as he helps him step out of his jeans. Cas rests his hands on Dean’s shoulders and lets himself be supported, leaning forward shakily as he toes his pants off one leg at a time.

When Cas is bare in front of him Dean breathes a long, slow sigh as he draws his hands down over his naked thighs, the musculature almost as familiar to Dean as his own is. He presses open-mouthed kisses to the base of Cas’ cock while he turns Cas’ body so that it’s straight-on in front of him.

When he finally, _finally_ wraps his mouth around Cas’ cock Dean moans, getting the velvet-soft head of him as wet as he can before he begins to suck needily, groaning low in his throat with every press of Cas’ cock past his lips. His skin tastes like soap and salt and the weight of him is heavy and perfect on Dean’s tongue.

“Dean,” Cas whispers as he runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, his voice hoarse.

Dean doesn’t respond immediately, concentrating on getting Cas as far into his mouth as he can, both of his hands braced on Cas’ thighs as he feels his own dick start to strain against the zipper of his jeans.

When Cas says his name a second time, though, Dean looks up in something of a daze.

“Yeah?” he asks, slowly fisting Cas’ cock with one hand as he rests his head against his hip again.

“I…” Cas trails off.

“Do you want me to stop?” Dean asks.

“No,” Cas says. “I just…can we lie down? Can—can we get in the bed?”

Cas’ voice is quiet and low in the darkness, subdued with an uncharacteristic hesitation.

Dean stands up on legs that are sore and half-asleep from his time on the floor and cups Cas’ chin in his free hand, leaning forward to kiss him again while he keeps his other hand on Cas’ wet cock.

Cas gasps, the sound of it lost in their kiss as his body starts to shake again under Dean’s hands.

Something about this feels new, new for Dean and new for both of them, this uncertainty and this closeness blooming between them after the impromptu venture they took into Dean’s life outside of the walls of this apartment.

“C’mere, let’s go to bed,” Dean says as he takes a step back and frames his hand around Cas’ hip, pulling him forward. “Wanna lay you down.”

Again, Cas gasps, his hands fumbling over the insides of Dean’s elbows as he clings to him and follows like a foal on new, unsteady legs.

It takes only a few seconds for them to reach the bedroom, and once they do Dean is kissing Cas again, pressing him backward onto the bed and reveling in his nakedness, crawling on top of him even though he’s still clothed and knows Cas will be able to feel the texture of his jeans and his flannel overshirt.

The light blue cotton of Dean’s unmade sheets make a nest around Castiel’s restless body, and Dean reaches down to take Cas’ cock into his hand again as he straddles him at the knees, pressing Cas’ thighs together when he can tell the other man wants to spread them.

“Fuck,” Cas gasps, twisting fruitlessly under Dean’s weight.

“You want your legs open so I can fuck you with my fingers, don’t you?” Dean breathes into Cas’ ear as he bends to press kisses to his racing pulse point, stroking him with more pressure.

Cas moans brokenly, turning his head to the side.

Dean shifts his body slightly upward on the bed so he can reach his hand into the top drawer of the nightstand on the left side of the bed and grab the well-used bottle of lube. When he’s wrapped his fingers around it he sits back on his knees slightly, letting go of Cas to unbutton his jeans and pull his own dick out through the opening in his boxers before he pops the cap of the bottle open.

“Dean,” Cas groans as he reaches down to touch himself in Dean’s absence.

“Wait for me, babe,” Dean says breathlessly as he pours a palmful of lube over his cock, breathing through his teeth as he coats himself with as light a touch as he can manage. After his cock is glistening with it Dean squeezes more into his palm and slips his hand down between Cas’ legs, spreading the slick over the insides of his thighs until his skin is slippery and Dean’s fingers skate over it.

Cas’ legs are shaking around Dean’s hand, his cock dripping pre-come onto his trim stomach. He’s looking up at Dean with eyes half-closed with lust and his nipples are noticeably hard, the right one slightly red from Dean’s earlier ministrations. Dean leans down and presses a kiss to Cas’ open mouth as he slips his hand down between their bodies, wrapping it around Cas’ so that they’re stroking his cock together.

Cas moans, arching up into Dean’s touch as much as he can. His dick throbs hard enough that Dean can feel it even though he’s not directly touching it.

“Dean, please,” Cas says again, biting Dean’s bottom lip.

“Okay, okay,” Dean murmurs as he withdraws up and away from Cas’ suppliant mouth. He braces himself with a hand on either side of Cas’ body as he tilts his hips downward and presses his cock into the wet space he’s made between Cas’ clamped thighs.

Cas arches upward again, trying and failing to part his legs so that Dean can press farther.

“Fuck, you feel big,” Cas moans as Dean starts to fuck the space between his legs a few seconds later.

“That’s ‘cause I am,” Dean breathes as he pumps his hips. Once he feels like he’s found his center of gravity he takes Cas’ cock into his hand again, noting with satisfaction that it feels huge in the tunnel of his fingers, throbbing with every upward twist of Dean’s wrist.

After only a minute or so he and Cas find a rhythm, with Cas pushing up into Dean’s hand with every thrust of Dean’s dick between his legs. It becomes a back-and-forth as they shove off of one another only to press back in, and sweat starts to make the places where they come together slick and hot. Dean uses every trick he’s learned over the months he’s spent with Cas to make it good for him as he jacks him off, all the while still using Cas’ body to get himself closer and closer to the edge.

Soon, Cas has gotten what he wanted all along and his legs aren’t pressed together so tightly anymore, and every thrust of Dean’s dick stops only when the head presses against the furl between Cas’ legs, the tip of Dean’s cock opening him a little more each time. Soon, Cas is making a sound that could be a whine, canting his hips upward as much as he can in an attempt to take Dean further inside, his cock flushed a deep red in Dean’s fumbling hand.

When Dean comes a few minutes later it’s messy and partially inside of Cas, streaks of white catching on the entrance to his body as he shoves downward, greedy and desperate to catch all that he can.

“Fuck, Dean,” Cas moans as Dean moves quickly, clambering down off of Cas’ body to take his cock into his mouth again. He only manages to fuck up into Dean’s mouth a few times before he cries out and comes on the flat of Dean’s tongue with another full-body shudder.

Dean’s pretty sure Cas is half-asleep almost the moment he orgasms, and he carefully extricates himself from the other man’s arms and the damp, messy bedcovers to grab a wet washcloth from the tiny bathroom across the hall.

He quickly strips beside the bed before taking his place near Cas’ side again, and he parts the other man’s legs as gently as he can, unsure if Cas will ask him to stop. But Cas only breathes out slowly and shifts a little in Dean’s grip; he doesn’t open his eyes, ask Dean to stop, or acknowledge him at all. Dean laughs softly to himself at the sight, cleaning the lubricant and come off of Cas and then off of himself before he balls the used cloth and his clothes together into a pile in the corner of the room.

Then, at last, Dean is pulling the comforter up over both of them as he situates himself as comfortably as he can on his customary side of the bed, breathing out a long, sustained breath of relief as he settles.

Having assumed Cas had already fallen asleep, Dean is startled when Cas turns toward him and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder, pressing his face into the hollow of his throat.

“Thank you,” Cas murmurs.

For a second Dean has no idea what Cas is thanking him for, whether it’s the sex or the softness of the bed or the fact that Dean is close enough to use as a headrest, and then he understands. Cas is thanking Dean for introducing him to his family.

There are a few things that Dean nearly says, words that sit on the tip of his tongue.

_Having you with me made everything perfect._

_I’m sorry I didn’t ask you sooner._

_I couldn’t have left you here alone if I tried._

But Dean doesn’t think he can say any of them, not now. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he simply says, “You’re welcome, Cas.”


	2. Chapter 2

After Thanksgiving things seem almost exactly the same on the surface: Cas comes over practically every day with his ancient, neon pink HP laptop and his cat, Cynthia (don't ask Dean why the guy decided to name his purebred Siamese after the whitest name he could apparently think of OR why Dean lets him bring the thing around considering he's allergic—both are mysteries), they play Scrabble one night for three hours wrapped in blankets when the power unexpectedly goes out, they watch one or two episodes of Grey’s Anatomy when Dean gets home from work at one in the morning because Cas has a pathetic crush on Alex Karev, Cas calls in the mornings to tell Dean he hopes he has a good day when they know he won’t be able to stop by later. All are things that have become normal and almost routine over the months they’ve spent together, and Dean thinks that they should feel the way they always have, but somehow they don’t.

It feels like some invisible barrier between them that Dean didn’t even know was there has come down.

When they fuck it feels different, when they kiss it feels different, when they fall asleep in bed together it feels different. Hell, even when they talk it feels different, but it’s not a bad kind of different, Dean decides a few days after when he wakes up to Cas already pressing soft kisses to his mouth.

It feels…good. It feels secure. It feels inevitable. It feels like something warm and red and bright in the midst of the cool, blue winter.

~*~*~

Dean and Castiel decide to get matching tattoos exactly one week after Thanksgiving.

Cas is the one who comes up with the idea one morning, when his voice is still low and cracked with sleep, his blue eyes are red-rimmed, and he’s spectacularly stoned.

He and Dean are in the living room sprawled out on the couch in front of the TV, a smoking joint still making its way back and forth between the two of them as the sun rises, vividly pink and orange and yellow, outside the window. Both Dean and Cas are early risers, though Cas also has the unfortunate habit of staying up until three or four in the morning every night typing away at his keyboard working on an article for whatever website or blog he’s freelancing for that week. Dean has no idea where Cas finds the energy to function throughout the day with how little sleep he apparently gets, but Cas never appears terribly affected one way or another.

“I think it’s time I got my first tattoo,” Cas says apropos of nothing.

“What?” Dean asks in surprise, turning around to face Cas. He’s sitting on the floor and leaning back against one of Cas' legs, his arms looped around the bend of his knee as he uses Cas’ thigh as a backrest.

Cas’ brow is furrowed, his hands moving over the mousepad on his laptop as he maneuvers through whatever website he’s looking at. He doesn’t immediately answer, but Dean waits patiently for him.

“I want a tattoo and I like this picture,” Cas says as he lifts his laptop and hands it to Dean a few minutes later. On its screen is a stylized image of a swallow bird that Dean’s seen many times before, both online and in person. It’s a popular motif for tattoos, the wings out and curved in a single, thick line and the prongs of the tail prominent and emphasized. As far as first tattoos go, Dean thinks Cas could do significantly worse.

“That’s what you want?” Dean says as he presses his cheek to the inside of Cas' thigh. He knows his breath is tickling the man’s skin when he feels a teasing swat land on the back of his head.

“I like it,” Cas says seriously. “Do you like it, too?”

“I do,” Dean says. “It’s classic. You should get some nautical stars to go with it if you’re going for that old-school vibe.”

“I don’t have any affinity with the sea,” Cas says as he takes his laptop back from Dean, his brow furrowing again.

“But you have one with birds?” Dean asks with a laugh.

Cas’ eyes become distant for a moment, his hand stilling on his keyboard.

“My grandmother’s house had a sizable aviary. Before she died I used to spend a lot of time with her birds. The ones she kept were bright and tropical, though, and all of them were very loud. They were…so human-like, in a strange way. It’s hard to describe if you’ve never met one.”

“When did she pass?” Dean asks out of curiosity.

“When I was thirteen, not long after my mother remarried and Balthazar and Zachariah became part of the family,” Cas says, his lips developing a subtle downward turn that Dean knows he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t so familiar with Cas’ many expressions. Cas always seems to get the same look on his face when he talks about his stepfather and stepbrother, and Dean never, ever likes to see it.

He takes Cas’ hand. “I think you should get it if you want it, Cas.”

“I think I do want it,” Cas says with more conviction. “I’ve never even gotten a piercing and I’m almost thirty-two years old. The most interesting thing I’ve ever done was dye my hair blue back when I was in college.”

Dean groans at the thought of Cas with dyed hair and sits up on his knees, turning around to fully face Cas. He drapes his arms over Cas’ hips as he tilts his face up for a kiss.

“You got any pictures of that?” Dean asks as he cups Cas’ chin and pulls him down, sealing their mouths together.

“I might have a few Polaroids,” Cas teases when he comes back up for air a few minutes later, his full lips pink and wet.

“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Dean says before he pulls Cas down again, the kiss deeper this time.

Cas laughs and Dean retaliates by grabbing his wrists and pulling him down so that they’re both on the floor, the thick area rug beneath them taking the brunt of Cas’ fall. Dean climbs on top of Cas without breaking the kiss, enjoying the way Cas’ hands come to wrap around his waist or frame the jut of his hip.

“It used to feel like you wanted to fly away,” Dean murmurs as Cas reaches up to cup his cheek, the gesture gentle enough to pull the words from him.

For the first few weeks he and Cas had known one another Cas had been aloof and somewhat hard to get a hold of, only coming over to the bar down the street or Dean’s apartment when he’d apparently decided he wanted to and leaving almost immediately after he and Dean finished hooking up. It had taken close to two months for Dean and Cas’ relationship to grow into what it is now, and though Dean has never actually verbalized the thought, those first few months had stung a little. Telling himself that the sex was good enough that a friendship shouldn’t matter hadn’t quite cut it, and he’d been grateful when something between them had shifted and Cas had started spending the night and making them breakfast in the morning and talking to Dean about more than sex and weed. Now that Dean knows Cas better he thinks most of his issues stem from the way his family treats him, and they’re close enough that he no longer feels hurt by those early days.

“I didn’t, though,” Cas says as he chases Dean’s wayward thoughts away by deepening the kiss. Dean closes his eyes and leans fully into the embrace, exhaling slowly as he feels Cas slip both hands over the curve of his back and down toward his ass. He cups Dean through his shorts and Dean moans softly, grinding his hips downward against Cas’ and feeling that they’re both hard.

He's not off today, he’ll have to go into the restaurant at around three to cover both lunch and dinner, but he wants to enjoy his time before then and Bob's Burgers is playing on the TV while Cynthia naps near the end of the couch. All of Dean's blankets are covered in her fur and really he should be irritated, but for some reason he's not and he hasn’t been for a while, now.

"I'll get it, too, if you want," Dean says as he draws back, feeling his eyelids flutter open as Cas cups his face again, thumbing at his bottom lip until his mouth opens and Cas’ finger is on the tip of his tongue. “The tattoo, I mean.”

“You’d do that for me?” Cas asks before he pulls his hand away and leans in for another kiss.

Dean nods, gasping softly when Cas reaches underneath the elastic waistband of his old basketball shorts.

It’s almost an hour later (when Cas is literally inside him), that he brings the tattoo up again.

"When are you off next?" he asks Dean unexpectedly.

Dean opens his eyes with what feels like a fair amount of difficulty, struggling to look up at Cas from where he’s lying on his back on the bed. His thighs are trembling where they’re spread wide and draped over the insides of Cas’ elbows.

“What?” he asks.

Cas reaches down and drags his finger through the pre-come pooled in the slit of Dean’s cock in response.

“F—fuck—Cas,” Dean stutters, his eyes closing again as he lets his head fall back onto the bed.

After their conversation they’d smoked some more and Cas had rimmed Dean for the better part of half an hour before graduating to fucking him with his fingers for around the same amount of time. He’d only finally, _finally_ replaced his fingers with his cock when Dean had begged for it, and they’ve been fucking for almost twenty minutes now.

Dean, for his part, has already reached that sloppy, perfect, transcendent point during sex where all he can focus on is physical sensation and what his body is doing in relation to Cas’. No one has ever been able to get him to that headspace faster than Cas, who seems to have a knack for playing Dean’s body like another round of Scrabble. Today’s no exception.

Dean’s also still stoned from earlier, and having to try and form coherent thoughts when he might as well be floating somewhere in outer space is entirely disorienting (and speaking is even worse).

“You said you would get a tattoo with me,” Cas whispers, his voice almost gentle. “When’s your next day off?”

Cas brings his hand up to cup the side of Dean’s face at the same time that he pulls his dick almost all the way out of him, stretching Dean around the head of his cock for a few, torturous seconds before he thrusts smoothly and firmly back in. Dean’s thighs jerk and the muscles of his arms tense and loosen as he reaches clumsily for Cas, his fingertips brushing over the insides of his wrists.

“Cas,” Dean gasps again.

He can hear the wet, rhythmic sound of Cas fucking his ass and he thinks maybe it should sound gross and weird or embarrass him, but it doesn’t and he isn’t. He can’t move his legs because Cas is holding them apart and Cas is fucking him slowly and endlessly, the frictionless slick of him moving in and out good enough to make Dean’s toes curl where his feet are hanging near Cas’ thighs.

“T—tomorrow,” he manages to get out between thrusts, throwing his head back as Cas changes the angle of his hips and doesn’t stop moving, every press of him inside making Dean’s cock jerk against his stomach.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dean begins to chant breathlessly in time with Cas’ thrusts into him, arching his back as he bears down on Cas’ cock as much as he can, sweat beading his forehead as he feels himself getting closer and closer to orgasm.

“You feel so good,” Cas groans as he begins to fuck into Dean faster, his thrusts intensifying in speed and force.

Dean can hear himself whimpering loudly, the sound high-pitched and helpless and like nothing he would ever make if he weren’t getting fucked so well and ten seconds away from coming his brains out.

“Baby, touch me, touch me—” Dean moans with a shudder as Cas obliges him and wraps a hand around his cock, the firm pressure of his fingers making Dean yell out something formless and unintelligible as he comes all over himself a few seconds later.

“God, Dean,” Cas says as he pulls out and comes over the hot skin of Dean’s ass and thighs.

“God.”

After, once they’ve briefly rinsed off and gotten dressed again, Dean makes them eggs and toast and they sit together on the couch. They’re supposed to be eating, but the food goes cold because they wrap up close and get lost in each other for a few minutes.

Cas’ skin is soft under Dean’s hands, his breath warm on Dean’s clavicle. They breathe in and out slowly and soon they breathe together, their chests rising and falling in tandem as sunlight fills the room around them.

Dean closes his eyes and inhales the smell of Cas’ skin, his body loose and sore and every cell of him full.

A few hours later finds Dean in the kitchen at Les Fruits de Mer, a clean dish towel slung over his shoulder as he searches for the basting tool he's currently having a hard time locating.

When someone pokes him hard in the center of the back he turns around, smiling as he comes face-to-face with Charlie, who’s holding the thing directly in front of his face.

"Thanks," Dean says as he takes it from her and starts to move to the other side of the kitchen so he can begin dinner prep. It's three-forty-five and they're a little behind schedule since the morning staff didn't clean up as thoroughly as they were supposed to, and he and Charlie have had to pick up almost all of the slack as a result.

Dean grabs two dozen whole salmon from the nearby walk-in refrigerator, throwing them gently down onto the clean cutting board on the far table so he can begin cleaning and quartering them for easy cooking.

"Hey, Charlie, do me a favor and put my kitchen playlist on?" he calls over his shoulder to the sous-chef.

"Thought you'd never ask!" she responds brightly, her usual energy and spunk as contagious as it always is. Charlie’s usually the type of person who likes music and constant small-talk to accompany her work, somewhat loud and a little clingy as a coworker. Dean is her best friend and he loves her, but he’s pretty sure that even if he didn’t she’d still be fun to work with.

Dean smiles to himself as he grabs a large paring knife and begins to work on the first fish in the pile, listening to the _tap tap tap_ of Charlie’s fingers on his phone screen through the small bluetooth speaker after she grabs both from his back pocket. Then, a minute or so later the sound of soft, steel guitar chords waft through the warm kitchen, and Dean tilts his head back and rolls his shoulders until he hears a _pop_ , letting the notes wash over him.

"What's this?" Charlie asks a few seconds later as she comes back to stand beside him, accustomed to Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, and Black Sabbath blasting through the kitchen instead of the softness of Santo and Johnny.

"Huh?" Dean asks as he turns to look at his friend, already having become somewhat absorbed in the music and in the oddly soothing repetition of gutting fish.

"This music, it’s not your usual jam. It's pretty, though," Charlie concedes neutrally enough, grabbing a few heads of lettuce and taking them over to the sink to rinse them off.

"Oh. It's, uh, what Cas listens to when he's working," Dean says, picturing the other man hunched before his laptop in relative darkness while Billie Holiday and Etta James and Santo and Johnny drift around him, hazy and soft and always a little bit sad as Castiel types away at his keyboard.

"So," Charlie begins when she returns with the now-damp lettuce, setting it down on the table across from Dean's.

"What's up, buttercup?" Dean asks.

"Cas," Charlie says simply.

She’s seen Dean once since Thanksgiving dinner, having come down with the flu the day after the holiday and only returning to her usual shift today. Dean dropped off some soup at her place a couple of days previously, but Charlie had been too sick to do much of anything besides accept the food and usher him out of the quarantine zone.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Cas. What about him?”

"Are you, uh, bangin' that like a new drum set?" Charlie asks.

"Charlie!" Dean sputters, abandoning his task to look up at her.

"What?" Charlie asks far too innocently as she begins to halve and chop the lettuce heads.

"It wouldn't be the first time you've had a friend with benefits, though I gotta say, I like him a lot better than I liked Aaron. Or Cassie, for that m—"

"He's not a friend with benefits," Dean snaps even though that’s exactly what Cas is.

The term being used to describe Cas rankles Dean and makes him feel defensive even though when he pauses to give the idea some additional thought he can't put his finger on why that would be the case. It's not as if they're dating, so that's what Cas would be, isn't it? The thought makes something heavy settle into the pit of Dean’s stomach even though as he turns the facts over and over in his mind they inevitably remain the same. He and Cas have never talked about their relationship and have never assigned themselves a label of any kind, and Dean is relatively sure that if Cas wanted that to change he would have said something by now.

Wouldn’t he have?

"You're doing it again," Charlie says with a gentle sigh.

"What?" Dean asks.

"Overthinking. Look, what’s up? How did I piss you off?"

"I’m not pissed, sorry. I just...we're not together, Cas and me. We just..." Dean makes a somewhat inappropriate gesture with his hands even though they’re covered in fish guts and blood. “Y’know. And we spend a lot of time together, too. He…he’s always with me, lately, when I’m not here. I could probably charge him rent at this point.”

“Do you…like that?” Charlie asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I actually really like having him around. He makes the apartment feel…better? I dunno, just…lighter or something. We, uh. We're getting matching tattoos tomorrow," he finishes somewhat lamely.

"What?" Charlie asks as she lifts her head and looks at Dean, obvious astonishment on her delicate features.

“He wanted to get his first tattoo and I said I’d get it with him,” Dean says. “Chill out, it’s not like we’re getting each other’s names tattooed on our asses or anything.”

“It’s still pretty gay to get a matching tattoo with the hot guy you’re fucking,” Charlie says with a laugh.

“Shut up, it’s gonna be cool looking. It’s a swallow," Dean says with irritation as he tries to focus on the halfway-prepared salmon in front of him again.

"Let me guess, you were smoking the devil’s lettuce when you decided this was a good idea?" Charlie asks with a smile.

“Aren’t we always?” Dean mumbles.

"You know, he seemed pretty into you," Charlie says. “At Thanksgiving, I mean. I’m pretty sure he stared at you the whole night.”

Dean waits for Charlie to say more, but she doesn't.

He isn't sure if he's grateful or annoyed.

~*~*~

The following day Dean drives himself and Cas to a tattoo parlor in town where his friend Ash works as an artist and body piercer. It had been Ash who gave Dean the vaguely cultic-looking symbol on his chest back in 2014 when he was just starting out as a tattooist and was doing heavily discounted pieces for friends and family members to get as much practice in as possible, and Dean has followed the evolution of Ash’s work over the years since and has watched it become more detailed and inventive.

Nowadays, courtesy of the shop’s frequently-updated Instagram page, Dean knows that Ash has found his niche and favors fine lines and bright, punchy colors, and Dean thinks he’s the perfect person to tattoo the swallows on himself and Cas. It also doesn’t hurt at all that Ash was comfortable facilitating their last-minute appointment and didn’t seem to mind when Dean explained over the phone that he and a friend would be coming in within the next forty-eight hours.

All Ash had said was, “Sure, I’ll be around. I’m practically living at the shop right now so I can get money for Christmas, so be my guest. Just know that if I’m with someone else you’ll have to wait ‘til I finish, and I may have to fit you in between other clients.”

And that had been that.

The shop is less than twenty minutes away from Dean’s apartment, and when he and Cas arrive Dean finds that it looks exactly as it had the last time he was there (which was well over five years ago, now). Its battered wooden exterior is sky blue and pale aqua, and the white, looping lettering hand-painted on its front says _Black Dog Tattoos_. The front entrance is a faded crimson door that contrasts starkly with the blues and greens of the rest of the building, and it has a white, wrought-iron knob that creaks loudly when Dean turns it. He gestures politely for Cas to enter before him.

When they step inside the shop Dean almost immediately spots Ash standing at the lightbox behind the counter, hunched over the brightly-lit surface as he sketches something with a look of intense concentration on his narrow face.

The bell above the door chimes as it closes behind them and Ash looks up at the sound, a smile forming on his lips as he realizes who he's looking at.

"Dean!" he says with unexpected enthusiasm, setting his pencil down and straightening as he eagerly rounds the corner of the long counter. He pulls Dean into a tight hug. "It’s good to see you! Man, it’s been way too long. Who's your friend?"

Dean feels a flash of guilt at the obvious excitement on Ash’s face. Before he started to work at the restaurant the year before last he and Ash had gotten together once every other week or so to play video games and have a few beers, and now he mostly keeps up with the guy through Instagram and text messages because his schedule is so monopolized by _Les Fruits de Mer_. He really ought to make more of an effort with both Charlie and Ash once the craziness of the holidays finally ends, Dean thinks to himself as he introduces Cas to Ash.

"This is Cas," Dean says, gesturing toward the other man. “Cas, meet Ash.”

"Cool, cool," Ash says as he extends his hand for Cas to shake. "It’s nice to meet you, man."

"Likewise," Castiel says quietly, a small smile on his face.

“I haven’t seen this chucklehead in months,” Ash ribs as he lets go of Cas’ hand and inclines his head toward Dean.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I suck,” Dean says as Ash laughs, the sound as contagious as it’s always been. Soon, they’re both laughing and Cas is looking on in silent amusement, his eyes narrowed as one corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile.

"Anyway, what were y'all wanting to get today?" Ash asks them with a grin once they’ve both mostly regained their composure.

"This," Dean says as he pulls out his phone and shows Ash the picture Cas had chosen earlier. "We were wondering if you could give us each one of these.”

At the sight of the image, Ash smiles. "A swallow, huh? That’s classic, man. Do you know what it means?”

Cas shakes his head at the same time that Dean says no, both of them looking intently at Ash as they wait for him to answer.

“They usually mean fidelity. The swallow travels long distances, but they always come back home where they belong when it’s time.”

“I, ah, thought it was an aesthetically pleasing design,” Cas says after he clears his throat and ducks his head, loudly and noticeably shuffling his feet.

Dean knows that he should probably be feeling freaked out that he and Cas are about to get something that can be interpreted as a traditional symbol for commitment tattooed on their bodies, but somehow, the knowledge makes him feel calm. He had already been prepared to get a matching tattoo with the guy and has been prepared since Cas asked him if he would, the fact that it will mean something feels…right.

“Cool,” Dean says brightly as he gently knocks Cas’ elbow with his own, trying to ease some of the tension that he can tell the other man is feeling after the revelation about the meaning of the bird.

Will Cas decide that he doesn’t want to get the tattoo anymore now? Dean suddenly isn’t sure, and the thought makes his chest feel like it’s pulling too tight, like the walls of the room are a few inches closer than they ought to be.

“It’s a good choice,” Ash says, pulling Dean from his spiraling thoughts. “Yeah, I can definitely do that for you guys. Where do you want 'em? Same place for both?"

Dean and Cas nod in unison, and Dean lifts his arm and taps the inside of his wrist for the both of them in response, hoping he’s successfully hiding how relieved he is that Cas hasn’t backed out yet.

Ash nods again. “Sure. Email that to me, Dean, then you guys need to give me about fifteen minutes to trace it and we’ll start.”

Dean does as he’s told and sends the image to Ash using his Gmail app, and once Ash confirms that he’s received it he waves Dean and Cas away, pointing them toward the small waiting area in the opposite corner of the tiny lobby.

While Ash begins the process of transcribing and tracing the image using the lightbox, Dean and Cas spend the time talking amongst themselves. Cas almost immediately asks Dean how he came to know Ash as soon as the other man is out of earshot, and Dean regales him with the story of how they met almost a decade ago (the circumstances of which involves a rubber chicken and a bar raffle and in Dean’s opinion makes for top-tier entertainment), but Dean doesn’t get to finish before Ash gestures for them to come back to the counter.

Dean looks down in surprise at his watch. “Wow. That was exactly twenty minutes.”

“Damn right.” Ash says with another grin as they approach him. “This is one I’m real familiar with. You’re welcome. Anyway, who’s going first?”

Dean raises his hand in response, laughing when he sees the look of obvious dread and then exaggerated relief on Cas’ face when he sees that Dean has volunteered and taken the weight of the choice from his shoulders.

“You better not chicken out on me once I do this,” Dean grunts good-naturedly as he and Cas follow Ash to one of the long, padded black chairs on the other end of the shop. He sits down and tries to get as comfortable as he can while Ash prepares the ink and the fixings of the tattoo machine. Dean shakes his arms and legs out and does his best to relax the tension in his lower back while he still can, smiling up at Cas where the other man is standing close beside him on the right side of the chair.

Ash is methodical and efficient once he finishes prepping the machine and then starts to prep Dean, wiping his bare wrist down with a strongly-scented alcohol cloth after he’s dragged a cheap plastic razor over the skin to remove any hairs. Cas looks vaguely concerned, but Dean smiles at him again in an attempt to ease his fears.

Then, Ash positions Dean’s arm over the armrest of the chair, stretching him out as far as he can extend before he grabs the tattoo gun and situates it over Dean’s wrist.

“Ready?” Ash asks. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Dean says without hesitation, knowing from experience that waiting only makes the first jab of the needle hurt more. A few seconds later the buzz of the machine fills his ear and Dean feels the pressure of the needle pressing down on his skin.

Dean finds that this tattoo stings considerably less than the one on his chest had even taking into consideration the difference in placement, and wonders if the reason is perhaps that since the last time he went under the needle he’s spent a few years routinely burning the shit out of his hands and forearms. Maybe it’s given him a higher tolerance for pain, but regardless of what the reason is, he doesn’t so much as blink when Ash starts.

“You doing okay?” Ash asks him a few minutes in.

Dean nods, tilting his head back as he looks up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, man, it feels fine. I’m good.”

“Good. This won’t take much longer,” Ash informs him as he continues to work, not looking up at Dean as he talks to him.

Beside them Cas looks on in obvious fascination as the needle moves over Dean’s skin, asking him once if it hurts and being quiet and focused the rest of the time.

Once, Cas reaches out and takes Dean’s free hand in his, squeezing his fingers gently before letting go almost shyly, as if unsure he should be touching Dean for so long outside of the apartment. Dean looks up at Cas in surprise at the gesture, feeling a soft smile bloom on his lips as he tracks the other man’s eyes where they’re glued to the developing tattoo again.

For a fleeting moment Dean wishes he could reach up and cup Cas’ stubbled cheek, but he doesn’t even though lately it feels like those impulses have gotten harder and harder to ignore.

As soon as the tattoo is finished Dean allows himself to look down at it for the first time and take it in as a whole, and he knows immediately that he loves it. He can’t help but admire it even though it’s red and raised and so, so new. He loves the crisp lines, the two prongs of the swallow’s delicate tail, the point of its beak. He loves that soon Cas will have the same mark on his skin and that they’ll match.

“It’s perfect, Ash!” Dean says with a smile. “You fuckin’ killed it! I knew you would.”

“Thanks, bro. I’m glad you like it. It’s your turn, now, Cas,” Ash says as he holds out his hand to help Dean up out of the chair, clapping him on the back at the same time that he gestures for Cas to come forward and take Dean’s place.

When Castiel sits in the chair he does so with what appears to be a fair amount of trepidation, clutching the armrests so tightly his knuckles whiten as Ash shaves the identical patch of skin on Cas’ arm that he’ll be tattooing, cleaning it after with another alcohol swab. Then he lays the stencil down, leaving only the purple outline in its place when he removes it a few seconds after.

Cas clears his throat and looks off to the side, his shoulders hunched somewhere near his ears and his legs crossed where they’re draped over the long footrest of the chair.

Dean feels a pang of sympathy as he looks down at Cas, realizing that this is the second and only time he's seen Castiel so obviously uncomfortable and that the first time had been when he brought Cas to meet his family. It’s only been a little over a week since Thanksgiving and Dean feels like he’s already mostly forgotten what it’s like to see Cas as anything but his usual poised self.

Making a decision in a split-second without letting himself overthink it, Dean reaches out and takes Cas' free hand in both of his. He brings it to his lips and presses a soft, lingering kiss to his cool fingertips, hoping that it helps Cas relax before Ash begins to tattoo him.

To Dean’s delight and relief his gesture has the intended effect almost immediately, and Cas looks up at Dean in something like surprise from the chair.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Dean doesn’t answer, he simply keeps Cas’ hand in his.

By the time Ash gets to work a few minutes later and brings the needle down on Cas’ skin, Dean still hasn’t let go of the other man’s hand and Cas is still and quiet, his hand warm and heavy and his eyes soft where they’re latched onto Dean’s face.

The hum of the needle fills the room again, but that is the only sound there is as Ash works.

"You, uh, never told me you had a boyfriend, Dean," he says as he wipes a few spots of blood and ink from Cas's wrist before dipping the needle down again.

Neither Dean nor Cas say anything to contradict him, and as the seconds morph and melt together into minutes, the appropriate window to do so slowly closes, leaving only a charged emptiness in its wake.

Cas’ mouth has fallen open, the expression on his face something that looks like a cross between disbelief and a secret, numinous joy.

"Yeah," Dean says to Ash at last, his mouth dry from more than the weed, now.

He doesn’t look away from Cas’ eyes where they’re wide and still boring onto his.

"Wasn’t sure how to bring it up."

After, once Dean drives them home and an hour or so has passed, Cas keeps staring at his wrist and then over at Dean's as if he can't quite believe it.

Both of their tattoos are bandaged with saran wrap and tape, and they have the TV on and an episode of South Park is playing at high volume. Neither one of them is paying any attention to the show.

Since they stepped back inside the comfortable, sacred space that the apartment has become they’ve both been quiet, saying very little to one another as they maneuver carefully, a few inches of space between them on the couch where there normally wouldn’t be. Dean knows why, but he doesn’t know if he feels capable of addressing the elephant in the room.

He can tell that Cas is also wondering if he should say something about what happened in the tattoo parlor, but he doesn’t.

Instead, Cas says, "My wrist hurts."

"Do you like the tattoo now that you actually have it?" Dean asks. He hears uncertainty in his voice and is unsure how to make it stop. Even though he knows that it was Cas who suggested they get the tattoos in the first place, part of him can’t help but wonder now if the other man regrets getting them (if he regrets letting Dean tell his friend that they were a couple).

Before Dean can wonder about anything for much longer, though, Cas reaches out to touch the side of Dean's face, his hand warm where he opens it on Dean’s cheek.

His voice is soft when he speaks.

"I love it."

Ten minutes later, as Dean sinks into Cas’ body, he can’t help but replay the simple words in his mind.

_I love it._

Cas moans as Dean fucks him wide and open and wet, pressing his hips back against Dean’s so he can draw him in full and deep only to pull forward again without warning.

_I love it._

“Fuck,” Cas whispers as he moves himself up and down over Dean’s dick. “Dean—”

Dean reaches down between Cas’ legs, tracing the outline of the rim stretched around his cock as Cas continues to ride him, his movements gradually increasing in speed and intensity.

The strong, beautiful muscles of Cas’ back are flexing under his olive-toned skin as he arches his body and moves himself, the scant amount of fat on his thighs trembling with the exertion. There are beads of sweat rolling down the defined line of his spine, and his skin is starting to glimmer with it.

_I love it._

“Fuck,” Cas says again, much more quietly this time, and Dean can tell that the man’s knees are about to give out a few seconds before they actually do. He wraps his arms carefully around Cas’ middle and folds both of their bodies down over the edge of the sofa. He’s as gentle as he can be as he moves them, making sure that Cas’ chest and belly are flat against the surface of the sofa and that his arms and hands aren’t crushed beneath the combined weight of their bodies. He’s all-too familiar with Cas’ habit of pushing himself just a little too far sometimes and having to let Dean take over as they both near the ever-ephemeral finish line.

“That good, baby?” Dean says into Cas’ ear as he spreads himself over Cas’ back, slipping his hand down between Cas’ legs again and running his fingers through the now-tacky lube that’s made such a mess of his ass and shaking inner thighs. For a few seconds Dean fucks Cas with his fingers, twisting two as far in as they’ll go and then crooking them upward with enough force that he feels Cas’ body jerk and shake under and around his hands.

_I love it._

Cas’ face and chest are pressed into the sofa pillows as he gasps and moans, his voice wobbling in time with the rhythm of Dean’s movements as he continues to massage his prostate. A few seconds later, unable to resist, Dean rubs the tip of his cock, dripping and desperately hard, against the outside of Cas’ rim while his fingers are still inside, feeling like he’s drowning in the broken, frantic sound that Cas makes when Dean finally drags his fingers out and replaces them with his cock, sheathing himself to the hilt in one quick motion.

Cas’ body is easy to slip into now, the space between his legs pink and swollen, but he takes it beautifully. He doesn’t say that it hurts, he only obediently spreads his legs wide so that Dean can fuck him deep and hard.

Dean hears Cas suck on his own fingers before they’re reaching down beneath his testicles to wrap wet and hot around Dean’s cock where it’s still carving a path into Cas’ body over and over again, easing the way anew.

“Yes,” Cas gasps, his hand faltering and falling away. He sounds like it hurts but he still wants it more than anything. “Yes. Shit—Dean—I—”

“I know,” Dean says as he moves his hand between Castiel’s flat stomach and the sofa so he can begin stroking his dick, loving the way it starts to drip onto his fingers with only a touch.

“Fuck me, oh, fuck me,” Cas moans, his hands balled into fists by his shoulders, his ass canted up at such a steep angle that it looks like an obscene image straight out of a skin mag.

_I love it._

“Oh, fuck,” Cas cries out into the sofa as his body stiffens. “Oh…fuck.”

Dean can feel Cas’ cock throbbing in his hand while his ass tightens like a vice, the spasms of his body wringing Dean’s own orgasm out of him a few seconds later.

“God,” Cas whispers as he goes still and loose under Dean, a smile on his face as he turns his head and takes a long, slow breath.

Dean leans down and presses a kiss to the nape of Cas’ neck, letting himself soften inside the other man’s body until he slips out.

“I think we need a shower,” Dean says with a laugh into Cas’ ear.

When they step under the warm water together ten minutes later Cas offers to wash Dean’s hair, and Dean lets him. He closes his eyes and leans back into the circle of Cas’ arms for a moment before the other man starts to rub shampoo onto his scalp.

Dean exhales slowly as he feels Cas press a kiss to the top of his shoulder, tilting his head back and enjoying the feeling of Cas’ solid body like an anchor behind his own.

He presses his wrist to the ridges of his own ribs a few seconds later, almost hyper-aware of the bulk of the plastic still wrapped around his arm and the fresh, bright pain of the newly-tattooed skin beneath it.

“I’m glad I didn’t fly away,” Cas murmurs.

The words almost lost in the rhythmic patter of the water, but Dean hears every word. He knows that this is Cas’ response to what happened earlier, and to his surprise, it’s enough.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Dean breaks out the Christmas decorations Castiel seems far too surprised that he has any at all, almost theatrically struck dumb after Dean announces that it’s time to decorate the apartment.

“Why do you have that look on your face?” Dean asks as he sets the small stack of cardboard boxes down near the end of the couch after retrieving them from the back of his closet.

Cas is standing in the center of the living room with his hands splayed over his hips and a look of utter astonishment on his face. He’s only wearing an old pair of boxers at the moment, the things washed so many times that the thin blue cotton clings to the outline of Cas’ hipbones like a silk negligee. The pose itself also makes him look indecently fuckable, but Dean’s not planning on derailing the conversation and telling Cas that, because he knows all-too well that if he does they’ll end up wasting two hours that they don’t have in bed.

“I’m not saying anything,” Cas says with a smirk as Dean bends to pull the dog-eared flaps of the top-most box open, revealing a collection of bubble-wrapped Santa figurines and a few piles of red and green garland.

“Whatever, you snob. The least you can do is help me decorate,” Dean grumbles with put-on exasperation as Cas laughs and drops a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up,” Dean says as he begins to pull things out of the box at random.

"I’m just saying. You wear leather and far too much flannel and boots that make literal dents on the surface of your floor, and you own a singing snowman?" Cas asks fifteen minutes later with thinly-veiled amusement as he pulls the novelty item out of box number two and holds it up to stare at it in wonder. Its white plastic surface is covered with a thin sheen of dust, and when Cas presses the small green button on the snowman’s back and it starts to sing a children’s rendition of ‘Frosty the Snowman’. Its recorded voice is so tinny and frayed it’s hard to understand when the chorus rolls around.

"Hey, back off. Dad bought that when Sammy and me were kids. It's basically a national treasure," Dean says as he grabs the snowman from Cas to shove it onto a mantle already crammed with tinsel, garland, plastic poinsettias, and white lights. He’s been haphazardly pulling everything out of the boxes and setting it all out on every available flat surface around the apartment. He’ll get the decorations sorted and arranged and where they need to go over the next few hours, he always does, but Dean’s initial (and reliable) strategy each year is to get everything out, put it somewhere, and then move it all two or three times until he likes it.

"I had no idea you enjoyed Christmas so much,” Cas says from where he’s now sitting on the sofa next to Cynthia, who’s currently batting a felt nativity scene ornament between her small, brown paws.

"It's the most wonderful time of the year," Dean says to Cas with a grin before he grabs the keys to the Impala and gestures toward the other man. "C'mon, get dressed."

"What?" Cas asks in surprise. “We just got all this stuff out, where are we going to go?”

"We have to get the tree."

The look on Cas’ face is priceless, but Dean doesn’t think he’s ever going to tell him that.

"You know, I've never helped someone pick out a real, live tree before," Cas says thoughtfully as he and Dean walk toward the few dozen evergreens stacked within the fenced-in area off highway 85 a few miles past the turnpike. The trees are bright green and cheerful-looking, even turned onto their sides and wrapped in rope to make them easy to transport.

Dean and Cas aren’t the only people walking around and looking for a tree, and beside them there’s a family of four and another couple, this one a man and woman.

"Not everyone wants the real thing, the needles shed like crazy and some people think the smell’s too strong," Dean says in explanation as he sizes up one, two, and then three trees, deeming each unworthy within a few seconds. He’s been picking out trees almost every year since he was old enough to start forming holiday memories, and he has a good handle on what he’s looking for.

“Slim pickings this year,” Dean murmurs thoughtfully to himself as he leans forward and pokes at one of the trees with a gloved finger. “Not as full as the ones they had for sale last year.”

Dean is so absorbed in the task at hand that when Cas stops walking beside him it takes him a few seconds to actually notice.

“Cas?” Dean says as he turns and finds Cas standing motionlessly a few feet behind him. His hands are jammed into his pockets and his blue eyes are downcast.

"You know, Dean, my—my family is—they’re spending Christmas in London, they told me earlier today," Castiel says. He still doesn’t look up a Dean as he speaks. “They say they…feel that Balthazar is struggling and needs them there with him again.”

When Cas looks up after he finishes talking, he has an expression on his face that Dean recognizes now after seeing it seconds before they went inside for Thanksgiving dinner and minutes before Cas got his tattoo just the day before, and he thinks he’s starting to understand. Cas is not the perfectly confident and self-assured person that Dean has always thought him to be, he’s insecure and fallible and just spectacular at hiding it most of the time.

Right now, Cas looks like he expects Dean to blame him for what his family’s doing or tell Cas that he doesn’t want to spend another holiday with him, and that doesn’t sit well with Dean at all. He has a few choice words he wishes he could say to Cas’ family, if he’s honest with himself. Everything Cas has told him about them make them sound cold, impersonal, and far more invested in Cas’ half-brother than they are in Cas even though both men are around the same age and seem to have done similar things with their lives (Balthazar is a journalist who works with a large online publication in London), but Dean has never met any of them in person and he doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries by saying something too disparaging about them. But every time Cas talks about them and Dean sees the same, oddly distant look on Cas’ face he wishes he was able to express how he truly feels and tell Cas that his family isn’t worth the pain and insecurity their favoritism clearly makes him feel.

Dean doesn’t and knows he won’t, though, so instead he says the one thing he knows he can.

"Spend it with me, then, man. My family loved you last time and I know they’d be happy to see you again," Dean says. He reaches for Cas’ hand after he speaks, thinking of the healing tattoo on Cas’ wrist beneath his jacket sleeve as he twines their fingers together.

“Thank you,” Cas says quietly, his face creaseless and pale as he seems to sag forward into Dean’s personal space. “I…I’d like that.”

Dean lets Cas come close, tilting his head forward and pressing his cold cheek to Cas’ for a moment.

“Good, it’s settled then,” Dean whispers as he gives Cas’ hand a squeeze.

Cas rests his head on Dean’s shoulder for a moment, smelling of bergamot shampoo and soft, warm skin. Dean presses a kiss to the top of his head, so brief and light he wonders if Cas will feel it at all.

"Hey! That one looks good!" Dean says minutes later as they stop in front of a tree a few yards away. It’s full and bright and looks tall, and as soon as Dean sees it he can imagine it in his living room beside his fake fireplace, bedecked in garland and old glass ornaments from when he was a kid.

He turns to look at Cas.

“What do you think?” he asks, not thinking about why he’s doing so.

"I think you’re right," Castiel says. There’s only a gentle smile on his face, now.

When they get back to the apartment Dean and Cas finish decorating, a classic Christmas playlist wafting from Cas’ laptop while they drink sweet, alcoholic cider and try with varying amounts of success to keep Cynthia from pulling the ornaments down from the lowermost part of the tree.

“You know, my family never really decorated for the holidays unless we had family or dinner guests coming over,” Cas says after they finish draping the tree with garland, a sweating cider bottle in his free hand. “They’ve always been more preoccupied with…appearances.”

“Appearances are the least important part of anything that ain’t a car, a painting, or a plate of food,” Dean says reflexively, thinking back to the many times his father had spouted the same axiom when a relevant topic was brought up in the Winchester household of Dean’s childhood. John Winchester isn’t a perfect man and he never has been, but he’s always had a way of seeing straight through things to the very core of them, to the part that matters the most. Dean thinks sometimes that he’s inherited the same talent.

“You know that, right Cas?” Dean asks, turning to face Cas in the low light of the string lights draped over the tree and the artificial flames of the fireplace.

He hopes that Cas understands what he’s saying, that one day Cas feels like he can tell Dean how he’s feeling even if he’s doubting himself and doesn’t want anyone, especially Dean, to know it.

Cas is still for a moment, staring into the depths of the tree while he takes another sip of his drink.

“I think I’m learning,” he says at last, turning to look at Dean with something knowing in his eyes.

~*~*~

Over the next few weeks Dean and Cas’ tattoos heal in tandem, Christmas draws nearer by the day, and Cas’ books begin to migrate onto Dean’s mostly-empty shelves while his button-down shirts and oversized cardigans come to occupy the hangers near the back of Dean’s closet.

Charlie visits one night for a smoke session and a few episodes of Broad City, and Dean is thrilled by how well she and Cas get along, grinning so widely his cheeks hurt as they all laugh together and pass the glass pipe back and forth while Cynthia tries to knock it out of their hands.

On the way home from work one evening Dean stops by a nearby Petsmart and buys Cynthia a little pink and white bed and a few catnip toys for the apartment, and when he presents them to Cas the other man hugs him so tightly Dean swears he’s cracked a rib. However, the radiant smile on Cas’ face is entirely worth it.

Cas takes it upon himself to paint Dean’s bathroom with the can of paint he’s had in his storage unit for that exact purpose for the better part of six months on a Thursday, surprising Dean when he comes home from a ten-hour shift with the renovation. Dean feels such an intense surge of relief and gratitude that he almost tells Cas he loves him as he pulls him into a hug, but he manages to keep the words from passing his lips.

On a Sunday, Dean drives to the nearby Walmart and makes Cas a key of his own to the apartment, handing it to the other man when he comes home from work the following night.

He hopes it says what he doesn’t quite feel brave enough to yet.

~*~*~

The 20th of December finds Dean at work at the restaurant while Cas texts him from the apartment to let him know that he’s heading out to buy groceries for the refrigerator and weed for the grinder in their bedroom.

_For us._

The words on his phone screen make Dean pause, and he feels a smile work its way across his lips as he reads the text a few times over.

Cas has had a way of doing that lately, of making the little things meaningful.

_For us._

Or perhaps it’s not Cas, perhaps it’s how Dean feels about him.

“Did Professor Bedhead tell you to hurry on home so he can jump your bones?” Charlie asks from across the kitchen, her hands partially submerged in the soapy water of the large double sink.

Dean laughs at her nickname for Cas, putting his phone away as he turns to face her.

“Maybe,” he says. “How’d you know?”

“You’ve never smiled like that for anyone else you’ve dated, not even in person,” Charlie says. “You have… _discussed_ that with him, right?”

Dean shakes his head somewhat guiltily, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “We…no, we haven’t talked about it, not really. I don’t…I don’t know how to, Charlie. I feel like…a few months ago we could have just started dating and that would’ve been that, but now, I…” he quiets.

“You love him, don’t you?” Charlie asks.

Dean looks up at her, lowering his hand.

“Uh,” he says. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“You should really consider, y’know, _talking_ to him about that,” Charlie chides, lifting a stack of dripping white plates from the water and hauling them over to the industrial dryer a few feet away.

Dean rolls his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll talk to Cas about my feelings when you talk to Jo about _yours_ , Charlie.”

Charlie shrieks dramatically and throws a soapy dish rag at Dean. The thing makes contact with his right shoulder with a wet _splat_ , but that’s the last that Charlie says on the subject for the night, and Dean doesn’t bring it up again either.

A few hours later Dean comes home to both a fully-stocked kitchen and grinder and to a sleepy, warm Cas who’s already half-asleep in their rumpled, unmade bed.

When Dean crawls under the covers beside Cas the other man promptly wraps his arms and legs around Dean’s body, pulling him close with a sleepy kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth.

His and Charlie’s conversation echoes through Dean’s mind as he drifts off to sleep, and for a second Dean is absurdly tempted to press his lips to Cas’ ear and say:

_I love you. Goodnight._

But he doesn’t, and in a few minutes more Dean is no longer awake.

~*~*~

The following day is Dean's first off in over a week, and appropriately, he doesn’t wake up until it’s almost one in the afternoon and he smells the familiar scent of a fresh cup of coffee.

He opens his eyes to find Castiel sitting on the edge of the bed, a smile on his face as he holds a mug of fragrant dark-roast in front of Dean’s nose.

"Wake up. I bought purple potatoes," Cas says authoritatively.

"Babe, the last thing I wanna do is cook anything," Dean says reflexively. He freezes for a moment after the nickname has slipped out, genuinely unsure if he’s never referred to Cas by anything besides his given name outside the bounds of sex and that liminal space one often occupies between sleep and waking. Luckily, though, Cas doesn't seem to notice, and he barrels on with all the subtlety of a freight train as he pushes the warm cup into Dean’s hands and continues to talk.

"I think your feelings are totally understandable and because of that _I'm_ going to be making everything today. You deserve it, and you know I don’t mind cooking for you."

Dean knows it's true, and Cas is a very good cook, actually. He tends to go on tangents about flavor nuances and notes and 'earthiness' and 'brine' and a lot of it goes over Dean's head even though he went to culinary school, but Cas has a knack for flavor combinations and knows his way around the kitchen. The two of them tend to think of food in fundamentally different ways, Dean being more straightforward and traditional while Cas is more experimental, but they’re both more than adept at making something taste great. It's never just Dean doing all the work when he cooks with Cas the way it’s been in the past, and he appreciates that more than he often lets on.

"Okay," Dean says quietly, self-consciously closing his eyes as Castiel leans down to press a gentle kiss to his sleep-dry lips.

“Drink your coffee, relax, then come out when you’re ready and we’ll start,” Cas says before he turns to leave the room.

Once Dean is out of bed with fresh breath and a clean face around thirty minutes later, Cas insists that Dean sit on the couch with a brimming mimosa in one hand and the TV remote in the other while he sets to work in the miniscule kitchen, dicing purple potatoes and fennel and zesting lemons and seasoning chicken with garlic and pepper.

It all smells delicious to Dean and Cynthia apparently agrees, curling up contentedly beside him on the couch with her pink and black nose tipped daintily upward as the scent of butter and spices wafts through the small apartment.

"You didn't have to do this for me, y'know," Dean says with a note of embarrassment as Cas leaves the chicken for a minute or two to bring him another mimosa and ask him if he wants cheese and crackers.

"I know. I _want_ to. You cook for us plenty and it's all you do at work," Castiel says. He drops a kiss on the center of Dean's forehead and Dean denies that he blushes but can feel the heat of it radiating through the apples of his cheeks.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says. He’s not sure he says it loudly enough that Cas even hears him, but he thinks he might have when Cas begins humming loudly to himself in the kitchen, his voice tuneless and bright.

Thirty minutes later Dean and Cas are both settled with full plates on the old couch and an episode of Hannibal on the TV in front of them as they eat together.

They don't speak, and don't need to, and Dean doesn’t think that he’s ever been happier.


	4. Chapter 4

On the morning of Christmas Eve Dean wakes up to Cas’ mouth stretched hot and wet around his dick and the tip of Cas’ finger dragging a teasing circle around his rim.

Dean groans and throws his head back against his pillow, shoving a knuckle into his mouth to stifle the noises he immediately wants to make.

“Good morning,” Cas says. His voice is muffled around Dean and the vibrations of his words travel straight down to the root of his cock.

“Fuck—g—good morning. What’s the occasion?” Dean asks with difficulty.

Cas removes his finger only to slip it into his mouth alongside Dean’s cock. When he brings it back down between Dean’s legs a few seconds later, it’s wet enough that it goes into him easily.

The alien pressure of Cas inside him starts to melt into something pleasurable all-too soon as the other man quickly establishes a rhythm. He finds Dean’s prostate and starts to massage it with the pad of his finger while at the same time sucking indulgently on the head of Dean’s cock, his mouth maddeningly loose and so, so wet.

Dean gasps and moves his hand down from his mouth so he can grasp fistfuls of the blanket underneath them on the bed, unsure if he wants to move his hips up into the heat of Cas’ mouth or down onto his finger and ultimately doing neither, feeling paralyzed by sensation.

Cas doesn’t give Dean time to adjust to anything or ask him what he wants to do, he simply moves and moves and moves inside Dean, his finger unremittingly fucking in and out and in again, and Dean can do nothing but lie there and take it, feeling himself get impossibly harder in Cas’ mouth.

“Cas—Cas, that feels—”

“The holidays,” Cas interrupts Dean’s meaningless statements without warning, letting his dick fall from his lips to better respond. “That’s the occasion.”

Dean is still surfacing from some pale vestige of sleep as Cas continues to fuck him with that single finger, his thoughts not entirely coherent and his movements uncoordinated as his body reacts, his thighs spasming and his abdominal muscles clenching and loosening.

When Cas asks, “Do you think you’re still open from last night?” Dean nods immediately even though he hardly processes the words and what exactly they mean. He bends his knees and draws them up and apart to open himself even further, his hands shaking as he hears Cas spit in his hand before there’s wetness being spread over his hole, sloppy and imprecise.

Some part of Dean registers dimly that there’s a chance he’ll be sore this morning from what he and Cas did the night before, he also doesn’t think he actually cares much after how thoroughly Cas has wound him up and gotten him going. He wants Cas inside him again even if there’s a little pain mixed with the pleasure.

When Dean feels Cas’ cock start to breach him a few seconds later, fat and hot and almost wet enough, he lets out a long, unbroken cry, his body tensing and then loosening as Cas reaches down and takes one of his nipples between his forefinger and thumb, rolling it gently.

Dean bites his lower lip and realizes he’s already closed his eyes, forcing them open again so he can look up at Cas, at his broad shoulders and the curve of his jaw, at his intense blue eyes and the hard, relentless motions of his beautiful body.

“On my side,” Dean gasps. “Please, Cas, on my—”

He’s briefly disoriented as Cas almost immediately obliges him and begins to manhandle him, a thick arm wrapping firmly around his waist as Cas turns Dean so that he’s facing the wall.

It’s economic and quick and dizzying, and Dean is shaking as he feels one of Cas’ hands slip down between his legs to lift his outermost thigh, draping it over the inside of his elbow as he spreads Dean wide and wets him again. He’s inside Dean again only seconds later, and both of them exhale audibly as their hips are pressed flush and tight and Cas is as far in as he can go.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, reaching back to clutch at Cas, at any part of him that he can reach, suddenly needing to feel grounded. Cas takes his hand and starts to ease slowly out of him, thrusting back in without warning and making Dean cry out and writhe against him.

Dean can feel his cock straining outward from his body toward nothing, his skin flushed red and his fingers and toes clenching and unclenching as Cas fills him up.

“I still don’t think I believe that you didn’t like bottoming before me,” Cas whispers in Dean’s ear as he continues to hold him open and fuck him.

“You can’t get enough now.”

Dean nods stupidly and thinks he also says yes aloud, but he isn’t sure. He twists against Cas’ body, loving the way he feels behind him (the way he _always_ feels behind him), an immovable wall of skin and muscle.

When Cas lets go of his hand Dean makes a sound of dismay, but before he can try to turn and look at him the other man reaches around Dean’s chest to grasp one of his nipples again, this time being anything but gentle as he pinches it, hard, between his fingers. Distracted, Dean moans and arches his chest up into the touch, feeling his cock jerk.

“I want you to come on my cock,” Cas says into Dean’s ear as he lets go of his nipple and instead cups his pectoral like it’s a woman’s breast, rubbing the pad of his thumb soothingly over Dean’s now-stinging nipple as he continues to fuck him. “You can do it, baby, you’ve done it before. Remember?”

Dean nods again, letting out a noise that sounds like a sob before Cas covers his mouth with his palm and slaps his ass hard enough to hurt.

“If you do it fast enough, I’ll let you clean up before breakfast,” Cas says, his voice almost a growl.

Dean focuses with all of his senses on the feeling of Cas’ cock fucking him, on the way it feels when the ridged head slips out of his body only to jolt back in with what he can’t decide is pain or pleasure but suspects is both. He angles his hips back and tries to relax his body as much as he can, easing the way for Cas as he starts to move faster and harder, the sound of his pelvis slapping against Dean’s ass growing louder and louder.

Soon, Dean is almost screaming into Cas’ hand every time the head of his cock slams into that good, good spot inside of him, his whole body singing with every thrust and his heart racing in his chest under Cas’ hand. 

It goes on for what feels like hours, Dean’s body making way for Cas’ as the pressure inside him builds and builds and he loses track of what he was waiting for, of the end coming closer as the inside of his body clenches and tightens and almost _hurts_ but still feels so fucking good.

Almost out of nowhere Dean feels his cock begin to throb, feels the wet warmth of his own come making a mess of his chest and belly, and he thinks with relief that he’s done the thing Cas wanted him to do.

“Cas…” Dean mumbles through a mouth that feels like mush. “I—I came, did you feel it?”

Cas’ hand drifts down to Dean’s belly, his fingers dragging through the wetness there before they wrap around Dean’s softening cock and cup it while Cas thrusts into him once, then twice more before he comes, too.

Cas is inside Dean when he orgasms, and Dean can feel the twitch and the warmth of it in his belly before Cas relaxes and drapes himself over Dean’s body, breathing heavily with the exertion of their fuck. Cas lets himself soften inside of Dean for a few minutes, both of them clutching at one another as they slowly come back down.

When Cas pulls his soft cock out of Dean a little while later and sits up with a groan, Dean stays where he is on his side, feeling the hot slip of Cas’ come dripping out of him and gathering in the spaces between his legs. Curious even though he’s somewhat familiar with what he’ll find, Dean reaches his hand back and runs his fingertips through Cas’ come, wetting his fingers with it and slipping one back inside of himself. He feels himself open easily, well-fucked and literally dripping. Dean shudders pleasurably even though it’s also a strange feeling, adding a second finger with an equal amount of ease.

When he feels one of Cas’ fingers join his own Dean closes his eyes and bites his lip again even though it’s sore under his teeth, feeling a spark of desire flaring deep in his gut. 

This is one thing he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to when it comes to prostate orgasms, is the fact that they sometimes leave him feeling like he hasn’t finished coming.

Knowing what Dean is feeling from past experience, Cas laughs softly in Dean’s ear, moving to spoon his body as he draws Dean’s earlobe into his mouth and gently bites down on it.

When Cas starts to move his finger inside of Dean he gasps and follows suit, moving his own alongside Cas’. For a few, quiet minutes they fuck his ass in tandem, their fingers moving in and out easily.

“Still feels good?” Cas asks Dean after he moans and shudders back against Cas’ body during a particularly deep thrust.

Dean feels himself blushing, feeling debauched and dirty, but he nods and whispers, “Can you…can you get the toy?”

Cas nods, dropping a kiss to the back of Dean’s head before he rolls away, leaving Dean’s back briefly cold and exposed as he reaches into the nearby dresser and pulls out the dildo they bought two months into their relationship.

It’s slender and smooth and not thicker than one and a half inches around, and it goes easily into Dean’s ass when Cas positions it at his entrance and presses forward.

Dean moans again, his lips parting without closing after as Cas starts to fuck him with the toy while he leaves soft kisses on the back of Dean’s neck and shoulder.

Only a few minutes in, Dean gets on his hands and knees and arches his back, presenting himself to Cas as the other man repositions himself behind Dean and continues to fuck the toy in and out of him. Dean’s cock is only half-hard but he’s almost as loud as he was when it was Cas’ dick fucking him. He loves the feeling of the toy filling him up, loves the heat of Cas’ breaths on the small of his back and the pressure of the other man’s hand on the curve of his ass, on the exposed stretch of skin just beneath where the dildo sinks into him.

It’s a vulnerable position to be in, letting another man fuck him with a toy while Dean is mostly soft and dripping with someone else’s come. In fact, it might be the most vulnerable position Dean has ever been in, but there’s something so _perfect_ about it, about being so spent and soft and spread, and he doesn’t think there’s anyone he would rather be doing it with than Cas.

It takes almost twenty more minutes, but Dean comes again.

Only a few, scant drips spurt from the tip of his cock this time as his body tightens and he shakes hard in Cas’ arms, but it still feels better than good as Cas milks everything that he can from Dean’s body, only stopping when Dean feels tears well in his eyes and has to tell Cas that he can’t take any more.

Cas holds Dean tightly through the aftershocks, his arms warm where they’re wrapped around Dean’s chest and belly and his hands soft where they’re splayed wide and possessive over Dean’s skin.

“Thank you,” Dean whispers as he turns in Cas’ arm to face him in the bed, burying his face in the hollow of Cas’ throat.

Cas holds him close, sheltering Dean with the lines of his body as if he knows how exposed Dean feels, how much he wants to be close to Cas after what they’ve just done.

“I love making you feel like that,” Cas murmurs into the top of Dean’s head.

There it is again, the ‘I love’ without the ‘you’.

But Dean doesn’t think he minds. He thinks the ‘you’ is close behind, now. He thinks it might be closer every day.

A few hours later after a thorough shower and a hearty lunch, Dean and Cas are both dressed and ready to make the drive over to Mary and Ellen’s house, where they’ll be spending the rest of the day and the following morning.

The day is a beautiful one when they venture outside to load up the car around three o’clock, the sky still sunny and bright and the temperature cold enough that Dean's glad he has his dad's old leather jacket to don as he and Castiel carry boxes of wrapped presents, delicately-iced cookies, and a few casserole dishes filled with homemade snacks out to the Impala.

Cas seems less anxious this time when he and Dean get into the car and begin the drive across town even though neither of them has smoked anything since the night before. Whether or not the calm that appears to have stolen over him will last once they actually reach the house, Dean isn’t sure, but he hopes it does and that Cas is feeling a little more confident about their second visit.

He hasn’t told Cas this (not wanting him to feel obligated to spend the holidays with the Winchester-Harvelles), but both Mary and Ellen have asked Dean more than once if Cas is coming to spend Christmas with them. Dean doesn’t think his family has taken such a strong interest in any of his friends since Charlie first entered the picture back when he was still in culinary school, and it makes him happier than he can describe to know that he’s not the only one who loves being around Cas.

“Do your parents know about your new tattoo?” Cas asks unexpectedly halfway through the drive.

Dean reaches a hand out to turn the music down, turning to look briefly at Cas before he looks back at the road. “Nah, they don’t know yet, but I figure they’ll find out tonight when I take my jacket off.”

Cas nods. “Should I…try and… _not_ show mine to them?”

The fact that Cas is asking such a question almost instantaneously confirms Dean’s long-held suspicion that the tattoos have as much meaning to Cas as they do to himself, but as secretly glad as Dean is to know that, the last thing he wants is for Cas to feel like he has to hide his tattoo from the family. He immediately shakes his head, turning to look at Cas again for as long as he can safely spare.

“No! ‘Course not. We got ‘em together and I love the way they turned out.”

Cas doesn’t say anything in response, but a few seconds later Dean feels the other man lay his hand across Dean’s leg.

The warmth of his touch says more than words probably ever could.

Dean reaches down to flip Cas’ hand up and loop their fingers together, and he doesn’t let go until he has to.

Mary and Ellen’s house is cheerful and decorated to within an inch of its life when they arrive ten minutes later, the outside wound with rows of twinkling lights that shine from the street.

“I feel like your mother lives in an actual postcard,” Cas says as they park and get out of the car, both of them briefly admiring the picturesque sight the house makes with its snow-covered roof and the large evergreen wreath hanging on its door.

Dean laughs and doesn’t contradict Cas’ declaration, smiling at him over the roof of the Impala before they start to unload the contents of the car.

He tries not to be conspicuous about it, but as he and Cas work Dean finds himself silently watching Cas, waiting to see if he shows signs of discomfort the way he had the last time they stood outside Mary’s house together. But he doesn’t, and when Dean asks, “You ready to go inside?” Cas nods and takes the first step toward the house.

When they reach the house and Dean knocks on the door it’s Sam who opens it. He has what looks like a speck of royal icing stuck to one of his cheeks and is wearing an almost comically ugly Christmas sweater, but he grins good-naturedly at Dean and Cas from where he’s standing in the doorway.

“Ellen’s been asking where you are,” Sam says before Dean can so much as tell his brother hello. “You’re late and she’s been waiting for the cinnamon sugar for hours so she can finish the cake.”

Before Dean can open his mouth to tell his brother that there hadn’t been an exact time so much as a _window_ within which he’d been told to arrive and that if Ellen needs cinnamon sugar so damn badly she’s more than welcome to _make_ some herself Sam is already moving on to Cas, though, warmth in his voice as he greets him far more favorably than he had Dean.

“Hey, Cas! It’s great to see you again.” Sam wraps his free arm around Cas’ shoulders and pulls him in for a quick hug. “Glad to see you stuck around, I’m sure Dean appreciates it.”

“Hello, Sam. Yes, I find I enjoy the sticking around part,” Cas says into Sam’s shoulder with what looks like a badly-hidden expression of mirth on his face.

Dean briefly contemplates slapping his brother in the back of the head but loses the opportunity to do so when Sam lets go of Cas and takes a step back, ushering them both in out of the cold.

The inside of Mary and Ellen’s house is just as quaint as the outside; every window frame is festooned with a hand-strung garland of cranberries and popcorn and the tables and mantle are covered with glitter-painted pinecones, sprigs of holly, and white hills of fake snow. The many small details pale in comparison to the tree in the center of the living room, though, which looks like it came straight from the pages of a home decorating magazine. Dean sees Cas’ eyes gravitate toward the tree, his mouth forming an ‘o’ of surprise as he stops to admire it.

“Better than ours, isn’t it?” Dean asks with a quiet laugh as Sam closes the door behind them. “Mom likes decorating even more than I do. I guess we know where I get it from.”

Before Cas can say anything Ellen shouts hello at them from somewhere in the depths of the kitchen, informing them that Mary’s still getting dressed but will be out in a few minutes and then demanding that Dean bring her the cinnamon sugar.

“See?” Sam says while Dean rolls his eyes and shoves the boxes he’s been holding into his brother’s arms.

“How have you not gotten a haircut since the last time I saw you, Samuel?” Dean mutters as he digs in the topmost box to grab the aforementioned spice.

“Because I like it long,” Violet cuts in loudly from across the room, gracing Dean with a somewhat salacious wink as he turns just in time to see her emerge from the kitchen. She gives both Cas and Dean a kiss on the cheek when she reaches them before taking the pile of things that Cas is holding from his hands.

“I should have known you were the culprit,” Dean says as he tosses the container of cinnamon sugar from one hand to the other. “I hope you know that his coworkers are never gonna take him seriously when he looks like a sheepdog.”

“Don’t be old-school,” Violet says with an easy laugh. “Everyone loves him at that office and you know it.”

His brother’s girlfriend looks particularly radiant today, Dean notices as he takes a step forward to give Violet a hug. Her round face is creased with a broad smile and her dark hair is falling in soft waves down the delicate curves of her shoulders, and there’s something about her that looks new and unfamiliar even though Dean can’t quite put his finger on what it might be. Before he can wonder for much longer, though, Violet hip-checks Dean with another laugh and takes the cinnamon sugar from his hand, turning to head back toward the kitchen without saying anything else.

Dean turns to Cas once Violet and Sam are gone to ask if he can take their coats to the back room. Before he can speak, though, he hears his father’s girlfriend say his name, her familiar voice drifting toward him from the hallway as she and Dean’s father make their way out of one of the guest rooms.

“Dean Winchester, it’s about time you got here!”

Kate Milligan and John Winchester have been dating for six years and living together for three, and Dean personally thinks that his father couldn’t have found a better girlfriend if he tried. Kate is straightforward, practical, funny, and one of the nicest people Dean has ever met in his life. She and John met in a grocery store a few years after the divorce was finalized and as far as Dean knows, the rest is history.

Today Kate looks a little worn out, with dark circles ringed around her pale blue eyes and her blonde hair tied in a messy half-ponytail, but she still gives Dean a smile as he pulls her into a hug.

“How you doin’, Kate?” Dean asks as she wraps her delicate arms around his waist, pulling him close.

“As good as I can be. How are you?” Kate asks.

“You know me, never better,” Dean says into the top of her head, pressing a fond kiss to her hair.

“Good. I hope I never hear you say anything different,” Kate says as she lets Dean go, giving his hand a parting squeeze before she turns to look at Cas with a smile.

“Now, who is this?” she asks.

“This is Cas, my—”

To his dismay Dean stumbles, unsure for a moment exactly what to refer to Cas as even though he knows he had been planning on saying the word ‘friend’. Now, though, the things that he thinks he wants to say are battling with the thing he knows he probably _should_ say in his mind, and for a few slow seconds Dean doesn’t say anything at all.

“I’ve known Dean since April,” Cas answers for Dean as he reaches out to take Kate’s hand, coming to Dean’s rescue and filling the silence. “He’s a dear friend of mine and we probably spend far too much time together.”

Dean feels Cas’ free hand move to cup the small of his back, and he feels almost indescribably thankful for the responsibility Cas has just lifted from his shoulders while simultaneously wondering if he should have simply said what he wanted to and been brave.

He doesn’t know, and in a few seconds more it no longer matters because Dean’s father is moving forward to tell him and Cas hello and Kate is saying that she wishes she could have come down to see them for Thanksgiving but that she had family matters to deal with, and Dean has to force himself back down into the present moment instead of the thoughts of what might have been if he had simply _said_ something.

As if he knows, Cas starts to rub small circles into Dean’s back, bringing him rather suddenly back to earth.

"Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Cas," Kate is saying when Dean snaps out of his self-induced funk. “Any friend of Dean’s is a friend of mine.”

“Thanks, Kate. We appreciate that,” Dean says, aiming another smile at her as Cas continues to massage the small of his back, constant and steadying.

"Where's Charlie?" Dean asks an hour and a half later when his friend still hasn’t shown up and it’s edging closer and closer to five thirty. The day before he’d gotten a text from Charlie saying she would be showing up at the house around four o’clock, and the fact that she’s so late and hasn’t called to say why is making Dean feel a little worried despite the glass of wine he’s nursing.

"Jo just texted, Charlie’s with her and they’re out buying eggnog," Ellen says with a smile from where she’s pouring herself a drink on the other side of the kitchen. “They’ll be here soon.”

Almost everyone has arrived at the house and is mingling at various points throughout its front rooms, most of them with a drink in one hand and a snack in the other.

Dean and Cas are standing near the entryway between the kitchen and the living room alongside Violet, Ellen, and John, and the Bradbury’s, Kate, Mary, and Sam are in the living room along with two coworkers of Ellen’s and Jo’s best friend, Madison.

It’s loud and warm and bright in the house and the party has been going strong for an hour or so, now, everyone talking to one another and enjoying the time away from work and obligations and the bitter cold just outside.

“Huh. Weird she didn’t tell me. I’ve been texting her for the last hour,” Dean says as he takes a sip of his wine. Next to him, Cas does the same.

"I think they may have wanted some, y’know, _alone time_ ," Violet says meaningfully. She’s making her second plate of turkey and mashed potatoes of the night when Dean hasn’t even gotten around to eating anything other than a few jalapeno poppers yet. 

"Huh?" Dean says as he looks from Violet’s face and then back to Ellen’s, both of whom are suddenly smiling a little too innocently for his liking.

“Wait, what do you mean, Vi?” Dean asks.

“Charlie asked her out a few days ago, and Jo said yes,” Ellen says as she sets the bottle of whiskey down on the counter and raises her newly-made drink, toasting the air as she smiles with obvious delight.

“You’re shitting me,” Dean says.

“Nope!” Violet exclaims with a grin. “Jo called me and told me all about it right after! Charlie brought her a bouquet of tulips and asked her if she wanted to go to dinner. Jo is _so_ happy! Like, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her that excited about anything that wasn’t a gun or a new video game.”

“Hell yeah,” Dean says with a smile as he raises his glass.

“Here’s to Charlie for manning up and going for it!”

 _I guess I don’t have any more excuses,_ he thinks as Ellen toasts him.

Over the course of the long, happy evening Dean watches as Charlie and Jo hold hands under the dinner table, Violet conspicuously avoids alcohol (and makes his mind whir with questions that will have to be asked another day), John and Mary get along splendidly over a few glasses of wine, Kate and Mrs. Bradbury talk about landscaping and the art of zen gardening, and Sam regales Cas and Madison with outlandish stories from the law office he’s currently working at where he does pro-bono work and meets many interesting and bewildering new people.

Outside, the front window flurries of snow begin to drift down in delicate white swirls, and the fireplace cheerfully crackles and pops once in a while, illuminating the room and the people inside it with a festive, golden light.

Cas, when he’s not listening to Sam or taking sips of his wine or letting Ellen pile more food onto his already-full plate, meets Dean’s eyes where he’s standing across the room and gives him a smile so soft it makes Dean want to rest his thumb on the fullest point of his lower lip just to touch him, just to feel Cas’ warmth under his hands and know it’s all his.

When Cas politely disentangles himself from Dean’s family in the living room and crosses the room to join Dean where he’s standing in front of the window that faces the street, it’s a few minutes after nine o’clock and fully dark outside.

“I’m sorry I’m just now coming over,” Cas says, standing close enough to Dean that their arms touch.

“Nah, I’m sorry my brother and my mom just held you captive for half an hour,” Dean says as he starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking with it.

Cas’ face breaks into a smile at that, and he looks briefly down at his feet before looking up at Dean again. He has a sweating drink in his hand, its contents half-empty and the ice mostly melted.

“I don’t mind, you know. I love your family, Dean. It’s nice, being here with you.”

“You’re glad you came, then?” Dean asks quietly. He doesn’t realize that he’s not looking at Cas anymore until he feels the other man reach out and touch his arm. He looks up, then, waiting for Cas’ response.

“Yes, Dean, I’m glad,” Cas says. “Thank you for letting me be a part of this, of…of all of you.”

Cas’ answer, as simple as it is, hits Dean hard with its sincerity. He stares into Cas’ face for a few minutes, then, drinking in the hundreds of tiny details he’s seen so many times before as if seeing them for the very first time, the blue of his eyes, the cleft of his chin, the cut of his cheekbones, the shape of his lips. All of them are beautiful anew.

“Cas, I…” Dean starts and then stops. He pauses and clears his throat before he starts again.

“I…I hope this doesn’t ruin everything, but I want to be with you, man. Not just as—as people who sleep together, but as…everything else. I meant what I said to Ash that day. I know I haven’t said it since, and that’s ‘cause I’ve been worried you wouldn’t want me to. But it’s still true for me. Do you want that, too?”

In response, Cas takes Dean’s hand in his own and pulls him forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

Almost as soon as their lips meet, Dean hears the room around them erupt in laughter, catcalls, and scattered cries of “I knew it!” from various corners of the house. He thinks it should be distracting and should make him want to stop kissing Cas, but he doesn’t think he cares at all about the noise and the people, not really. All Dean feels in that moment is an almost unbearable lightness that suffuses him from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, all he sees is a long, flat sheet of tempered gold tumbling up to meet him as he falls headfirst into the kiss and all that it means. Nothing fills the calm expanse of Dean’s mind except for the softness of Cas’ lips beneath his and the easy way they fit together (the way they always have).

_I love it._

When Dean and Cas let one another go, standing at arm’s length in front of the window once more, Dean catches the other man searching his face for a sign that he went too far or pushed a boundary that he wasn’t supposed to, his ocean eyes full of doubt.

“It’s okay,” Dean murmurs as he reaches his hand up to frame the shape of Cas’ cheek, to hold Cas as close as he can without kissing him again. He drags the pad of his thumb over the delicate bones of Cas’ face. “I’ve wanted you to do that for months.”

Cas is looking at Dean as if he’s just given him the best Christmas present he’s ever gotten, his smile returning.

“I would like to be your boyfriend, in case that wasn’t clear,” Cas says with a soft laugh. “I wouldn’t have gotten a tattoo with you if I didn’t.”

The moment is somewhat broken when Dean hears his mother say sternly from across the room, “Dean Winchester, how long were you two planning on not telling us?”

That night Dean and Castiel share a blow-up mattress on the living room floor.

Since everyone besides Sam, Violet, Kate, and John (who are staying in the guestrooms) left around ten thirty the house has gone almost completely silent, all those who remained having now retired to their respective beds with one another to rest up for Christmas morning.

Cas lets out a sigh as he rests his head on Dean’s shoulder, the smell of him achingly soft and familiar in the dark. Their mattress is only a few feet away from the happy, twinkling lights of the tree and neither of them seem to feel particularly tired even though they’ve had a long night and it’s now almost one-thirty in the morning. They’re mostly making slow, drifting conversation curled up beside one another in the bed, their fingers interlaced and their breaths calm and even and in-sync in the quiet.

“I’ve been thinking,” Cas says, giving Dean’s hand a squeeze.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, rubbing his thumb over the veins on the back of Cas’ hand

"I'd like to dance with you."

"What?" Dean asks in surprise, turning to look at Cas.

"It looks like a ballroom in here," Cas says in a low voice as he sits up, gesturing to the lights still sparkling in clusters around the living room. It's mostly dark save for their soft multicolored glow, dots of neon red and blue and green and soft yellow surrounding them as if the party’s still going.

Dean realizes that Cas is right.

"But there's no music," he whispers.

Cas holds up his phone in response, extricating himself from Dean’s hold and the mattress with a low exhale.

When Cas extends a hand toward Dean he takes it without hesitation, letting himself be pulled upward from the warmth and softness of the bed as he steps forward into the safety of Cas’ arms.

'Sleepwalk' by Santo and Johnny begins to play from Cas’ iPhone, and Dean feels Cas shift against him as he sets the device down on the coffee table a few seconds before he pulls Dean even closer. He melds them together as they start to sway to the lilt of the steel guitar, the notes high and sweet in the air.

Dean breathes Cas in as they move with one another, closing his eyes and feeling strangely like he’s at his first high school dance and so in love with the person in his arms that everything is somehow perfect.

The song isn’t a long one, and in less than three minutes it’s over and Dean and Cas are slow-dancing in silence before the Christmas tree, still wrapped so close around one another that Dean can’t tell where he ends and Cas begins.

A little while later (how much later, Dean isn’t sure), Cas loosens his grip on Dean by a few degrees so he can lean forward and give him a kiss.

"I love you," Cas says with Dean’s breath, the words warm on his tongue.

"I love _you_ ," Dean exhales.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” one of them says.

Neither is sure which, but they don’t mind.

Soon, though, all the words are lost as their kiss begins to deepen.

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Desi and Mina for listening to me complain about this story while I worked on it, cheering me on, and looking over my stupid and horrible drafts and being nice about them.


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